


The Mole

by ChrisCalledMeSweetie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Fusion, Games, Humor, Just a Hint of Mystrade, M/M, Mystery, Reality TV, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie
Summary: Ten strangers — Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Martha Hudson, Molly Hooper, Jim Moriarty, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Philip Anderson, Mary Morstan, and Irene Adler — must work as a team to win money on a reality TV show hosted by Mycroft Holmes. The twist? One of them is a mole, hired by the producers to sabotage the game.





	1. Meet the Contestants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Breath4Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breath4Soul/gifts).



> Thanks to the multi-talented Breath4Soul for creating the fantastic TV Guide cover art.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is off to an exciting start, as contestants race the clock to a secret location, not knowing whom to trust. Shortly after they arrive, the mole’s first victim is eliminated.

…

 

A fleet of black helicopters flies through a cloudless sky.  Below them, a man in a bespoke suit stands alone at the edge of a field, holding an umbrella.  He announces:

 

“Ten complete strangers, five men and five women, are on their way to this secret location.  Nine of them have answered a newspaper advert requesting contestants for a fictional TV adventure game show.  But one of them has been hired by us as an insider, a traitor, a saboteur.  That person is _the mole_.  

 

“In the coming days, they’ll have to work closely together on a series of challenges.  They will have to trust each other totally, but remain aware that one person is their enemy.  They don’t know any of this yet, but they’re about to discover the truth. 

 

“Let the games commence.”

 

The helicopters touch down, and ten people emerge.  They make their way in a raggedy line over to the man with the umbrella.  Once they’ve all gathered in front of him, he addresses the group.

 

“Welcome.  Finally, I can reveal exactly why you’re here.  At the moment, you are just ten strangers, waiting to embark on a mystery journey.  But for the duration of this game, you will be working as a team on a series of challenges.  Each challenge, if successfully completed, will win money for the group.  There is over a million pounds to be won.   

 

“But, there is a complication.  One amongst you will not be playing by the rules.  One of you is an impostor.  They have been specially selected, by us, to do everything in their power to sabotage your best efforts.  That person is _the mole_.  

 

“Your task is to establish the identity of the mole.  At the end of each episode, the person who knows the least about the mole’s true identity will be eliminated, and they will be sent straight home.  Eventually, only one of you will remain to unmask the mole.  That person — and only that person — will win all of the money in the group’s kitty.

 

“But that’s all well in the future.  First, introductions are in order.  When I call your name, please step forward.

 

“Greg Lestrade.”  A middle-aged man with silvering hair joins their host.

 

“Irene Adler.”  A strikingly beautiful woman in a low-cut dress steps forward.

 

“Jim Moriarty.”  A dark-haired man smirks at the other players as he turns to face them.

 

“John Watson.”  A short man with a cane limps to the front.

 

“Martha Hudson.”  The oldest member of the group joins the others.

 

“Mary Morstan.”  A middle-aged woman with short blond hair comes forward.

 

“Molly Hooper.”  A nervous-looking woman smiles bashfully at everyone.

 

“Philip Anderson.”  A man with a face like a ferret takes his place with the others.

 

“Sally Donovan.”  A woman — quite attractive aside from her scowl — steps up beside him.

 

“Sherlock Holmes.”  A tall man with a mop of dark curls completes the group.

 

“And I am Mycroft Holmes, your host on this adventure.

 

“Now, for your first challenge.  I have made reservations for you all at the Colindale Cottage Bed and Breakfast in Nether Wallop.  For each player who checks in by 7:00 this evening, I will add £10,000 to the group’s kitty.  However, each time a player asks for help from someone outside of the game, £10,000 will be deducted.  

 

“Since you all arrived here by helicopter, none of you knows precisely where we are.  Behind me, you can see two Lincoln MKZ sedans with retractable panoramic sunroofs.  Their GPS systems have been deactivated.  As per the rules you agreed upon, you are not permitted to have access to your phones or to any other electronic devices not specifically supplied by us for the duration of the game.

 

“Using your geographical knowledge, your wits, and your ingenuity, you will have to make your way to Nether Wallop.  To determine who will travel in each car, I will ask each of you to draw a marble out of this bag.  The colour of the marble will correspond to the colour of one of the vehicles.”

 

Mycroft presents them with a black velvet bag.  One by one, the contestants select their marbles and hold them up to show the group.  Sherlock, the last to choose, fumbles a bit before revealing a blue marble. 

 

Mycroft shoots him a suspicious look.  “The final marble should have been red.  There are already five blue marbles, which is the maximum capacity of each car.”

 

“Well, that’s what happens when you hire idiots as production assistants,” Sherlock retorts.  “You should teach your lackeys how to count.”

 

Sherlock then addresses Molly, who is holding a blue marble.  “I’m sure you won’t mind riding in the red car, will you?”

 

Before Molly can reply, Sherlock turns to John.  “I see we both have blue marbles.  Come along.  We need to get this show on the road.”  

 

Soon, all of the players have taken their places in the sedans.  Lestrade is driving the red car, with Mrs. Hudson beside him.  Anderson, Donovan, and a rather forlorn-looking Molly are seated in the back.  

 

Moriarty has taken the driver’s seat in the blue car.  Next to him is Irene.  Behind them, John sits between Mary and a triumphant-looking Sherlock.

 

Irene opens the glove box and pulls out a large, accordion-folded map.  “Too bad we don’t have Mrs. Hudson in our car.  Are any of you old enough to remember how to use one of these things?”

 

John reaches forward.  “Give it to me.  I’ll navigate.”

 

“Based on what?” Mary asks.  “The map doesn’t appear to have an arrow labeled ‘You Are Here’…” 

 

“Did no one else observe the sign at the edge of the car park?” Sherlock demands.  “We’re at the Sandwich Bay Bird Observatory Trust.  From here it should take us about three hours to get to Nether Wallop, depending on traffic.  Let’s go.”

 

With a squeal of tyres, Moriarty launches the car into gear.  

 

“Should we wait for the others?” Irene asks.

 

“If they can’t keep up, they’ve got no business playing this game,” Moriarty says with a sneer.

 

Meanwhile, in the red car, a lively debate is taking place.  Donovan is urging Lestrade to just start driving, but he insists they should come up with a plan, first.  Molly is suggesting they ask someone for directions, since losing £10,000 would be worth it if it means they’ll earn £50,000 by all arriving on time.  Anderson counters that she must be the mole, if she wants them to lose money already.

 

Their argument is cut short by a pointed throat-clearing from Mrs. Hudson.  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, dears, but the other car just left.  Shouldn’t we follow them?”

 

Lestrade quickly starts the engine and peels out of the car park.  “Which way did they go?”

 

“Left,” Mrs. Hudson says, at the same time that Anderson says, “Right.”

 

“Well, that’s helpful,” Lestrade says, turning left.  They soon reach a T intersection and look in both directions.  The other car is nowhere in sight.  

 

…

 

An hour later, the blue Lincoln MKZ is racing along the M26 when it comes up behind a slow-moving lorry in the right lane, trying to pass an even slower-moving lorry in the left.    

     

Suddenly, everything seems to be happening at once.  Moriarty swerves maniacally around the lorry.  Irene shrieks and clutches at the dashboard, which somehow activates the car’s retractable panoramic roof.  Mary grabs John’s thigh, and he loses his grip on the map, which flies out of the open roof and disappears.  Sherlock stares at them all balefully.  

 

John grimaces.  “Well, that was certainly a clusterfuck.  What are we going to do without the map?”

 

“We don’t need the map,” Sherlock says.  “I have an eidetic memory.  Up ahead we take the M25 to the A3, then the A31 to the A331, which will take us to the M3.  Then it’s the A303 to the A343 toward Salisbury.  Once we hit Middle Wallop, we’ll turn left on the unmapped road to Nether Wallop.  The village is small enough that our Bed and Breakfast should be easy to find.”

 

“Brilliant,” John says.

 

Mary bites her lip and looks out the window.

 

…

 

The blue Lincoln MKZ pulls up in front of the Colindale Cottage Bed and Breakfast at 6:27 PM.  The five occupants check in with plenty of time to spare, then wait anxiously to see whether the other car will arrive in time.

 

At 6:54, the red Lincoln screeches to a stop in front of the B & B, and five flustered-looking people pour out of it.  They rush to check in, making it just under the wire.

 

“What took you so long?” Moriarty asks.

 

“You didn’t wait for us, so we had to stop and ask for directions,” Anderson whines.  “And then Mrs. Hudson insisted that we stop again, so that she could use the loo.”

 

“I’m sorry, but I’m a woman of a certain age.  These things can’t be helped.”

 

Just then, Mycroft strolls in, glancing at his pocket watch.  It shows precisely 7:00.

 

“Congratulations,” he tells the assembled contestants.  “You have all arrived on time.  Even with the £10,000 penalty for asking directions, you’ve still managed to add £90,000 to the group’s kitty.”

 

Mycroft then makes a big show of asking whether there are any rooms still available at the B & B.  When the owner tells him they are all booked up, he turns back to the players, smiling ruefully.

 

“I’m sorry, but we seem to have one guest too many.  I’m afraid one of you won’t be able to stay here tonight.  

 

“It’s time for our first elimination.  Each of you will answer twenty questions about the identity of the mole, and what he or she has been up to today.  The contestant furthest from the truth will be sent home.”

 

Mycroft brings out a laptop, and hands it to Irene.  “Please follow me,” he says, leading her from the room.

 

An awkward silence falls over the rest of the players.  One by one, they are called out to take the quiz.  John is the last to go.  When he returns, Mycroft is with him, carrying the laptop.

 

“All of your answers are on this computer.  If, when I enter your name, the screen comes up green, then you stay.  If it comes up red, then you must go.  Shall we begin?”

 

Mycroft opens the laptop, saying, “Irene,” as he types her name.  A green thumbprint appears on the screen.

 

“Sally.”  Another green thumbprint.

 

“Greg.”  Green.

 

“Martha.”  Green.

 

“Jim.”  Green.

 

The tension mounts, as the remaining players look around at each other.

 

“Molly.”  Green.

 

“Philip.”  A red thumbprint appears, and there is a collective gasp in the room.  Anderson looks dumbfounded.

 

“I’m sorry, Philip, but you have to go,” Mycroft says, escorting him from the room.

 

After ushering Anderson into a waiting car, Mycroft turns to the camera.  “Will the remaining players find a way to trust each other and work together to add money to the group’s kitty?  Or will the mole succeed in disrupting the game?  Tune in next week to find out…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, it’s time for a pledge break: Please support this commercial-free programing by leaving comments and kudos. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the pilot of this exciting new show, and that you’ll be back next week for episode 2. While you’re waiting, you might want to switch over from TV to radio, and check out The Ballads of John and Sherlock. No matter who you are, there’s something for your listening (or reading and singing along) pleasure, with tunes ranging from “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” to “Billy Jean” and lyrics that run the gamut from pure fluff to filthy PWP. http://archiveofourown.org/series/563162


	2. Shear Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the players get to know each other, alliances are formed, and suspicions abound. Tempers flare in the hamlet of Sodom, and another contestant is sent home.

After seeing Anderson off, Mycroft returns to the B & B to address the remaining contestants, who are gathered in the sitting room.  “I realise that the first quiz caught most of you off guard.  If you wish to remain in the game, you will need to be better prepared for the next one.”

 

Mycroft brings out a set of black journals, each with a green thumbprint and a numeral from 1 to 9 embossed on the front.  He distributes them to the players.

 

“These journals will be the only place in which you are permitted to record any information about the game or the other players.  Use them wisely.

 

“Now, I believe that a room has just opened up.  I’m going to go check in.”

 

With that, Mycroft sweeps from the room.

 

“Let’s get to know each other, so we have something to go on when we take the next quiz,” Molly suggests.

 

Sherlock glances at each of the other players in turn.  “I’ve already deduced everything I need to know about you all, so I think I’ll turn in early.”

 

“But we’ve barely met, dear,” Mrs. Hudson says.

 

Sherlock replies, “I know that you are a widow, and that you were relieved when your husband was killed.”

 

He turns to Lestrade.  “I know that you work as a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard, but you should really be investigating your wife’s string of lovers.”

 

“Oi!” Lestrade exclaims.

 

Sherlock ignores him.  

 

To Irene, he says, “I know that you make your living as a dominatrix, working with both men and women, although you prefer women in your free time.”

 

Irene smiles slyly and tips her head to him.

 

Sherlock turns to Donovan.  “I know that you are a police constable, frustrated by your inability to rise through the ranks.  I also know that you are disappointed that Anderson was sent packing, since you had planned to spend the night in his room.”

 

“You made that last bit up!” Donovan snaps.  “And you didn’t _deduce_ any of the rest of it.  You were fed that information by the producers, since you’re obviously the mole.”

 

“I never told the producers how I felt about my husband,” Mrs. Hudson says.

 

“Well, they must have figured it out,” Donovan insists.  “Don’t you all find it suspicious that Sherlock’s last name is the same as our host’s?”

 

“Holmes is a very common family name,” Sherlock says.

 

“Really?” Donovan asks skeptically.

 

“Yes.  If no one with that name has been born or died today, there are currently 75,423 Holmeses in the UK.  It’s the 87th most common surname in Great Britain.”

 

John grins at him.  “You just happened to have that statistic memorised?  Amazing.”

 

Donovan rolls her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry to say it, but I think you’re all bor-ing,” Moriarty singsongs.  “Oh, wait — _I’m_ not sorry, but _you_ should be.”

 

He flounces from the room, leaving shocked silence behind him. 

 

…

 

In the morning, Mycroft joins the contestants at a large dining table, where they are served a full English breakfast.  As they eat, he fills them in on the next stage of the game.

 

“Today, you will need to divide yourselves into three groups.  The first group should consist of three players who enjoy the thrill of the chase; the second, three players who can spin a good yarn; and the third, three who are willing to sell their souls.”

 

“You might not guess it by looking at my cane, but I enjoy the thrill of the chase,” John says.

 

Sherlock immediately jumps in.  “So do I!”  

 

“Yeah, me too,” says Lestrade.

 

“I’d sell my soul, if I had one,” Moriarty says.  

 

The other players stare at him uncomfortably, not sure whether or not he is joking.

 

“I can spin a good yarn,” Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Donovan say, almost simultaneously.  It is obvious to everyone that they don’t want to be in the same group as Moriarty.

 

Mary turns to Irene.  “I guess that means that you and I will be selling our souls.”

 

Irene smiles.  “Oh, the devil is a naughty boy, and I know exactly how to handle naughty boys.  He’ll be begging to pay me twice.”

 

“Now that that’s settled,” Mycroft says, with a slight moue of distaste, “it’s time to head to our next destination.  Each group will take a separate car.  This time, you’ll be driving Ford Fiestas.  Not as luxurious as the Lincolns, but at least the GPS systems are fully functional.

 

“We’ll be meeting back up at Sodom Hall Alpacas, just outside the hamlet of Sodom, in Denbighshire, Wales.  It’s a four hour drive, but you don’t need to arrive until 2:00, so feel free to stop for lunch along the way.”

 

The group disperses to their rooms to pack, and then reassembles in front of the B & B.  

 

Sherlock hops behind the wheel of a little silver hatchback.  John starts to get into the rear seat, but Sherlock stops him.  “No, John, you need to ride up front, because of your leg.”

 

John begins to protest that he’s fine, but Sherlock cuts him off.  “Lestrade can ride in the back.  Right, Lestrade?”

 

John looks embarrassed, but Lestrade claps him on the shoulder.  “No worries, mate.”

 

Lestrade climbs into the back, and John takes the seat next to Sherlock, who smiles at him and starts the engine.  The pre-programmed GPS instructs them to take the M6, but Sherlock insists that the M5 will be better, since they can avoid traffic, construction zones, and tolls.  Lestrade wants to follow the GPS, but he is overruled, and they head for the M5.

 

The second car, driven by Donovan, with Mrs. Hudson beside her and Molly in the back, heads in the opposite direction, following their GPS. 

 

There is a bit of an argument taking place outside the third car.  Moriarty wants to drive, but Mary and Irene, who were both subjected to his recklessness on the previous day, refuse to let him.  It looks as though their altercation may become physical, as the three all try to dive into the car at once.  

 

There is a brief scuffle, and when it ends, it’s Irene, surprisingly, who is in the driver’s seat.  Mary climbs into the back with good grace, but Moriarty stands on the pavement, sulking.

 

Irene gives him a no-nonsense look.  “I will count to three,” she says.  “And then I will drive this car to Sodom, whether you are in it or not.  One…  Two…”

 

Moriarty hops into the car as Irene says “Three,” and puts it in gear.  

 

…

 

By 2:00, all of the players have arrived at Sodom Hall.  They are greeted by Mycroft, who introduces them to a pleasant-looking middle-aged couple.

 

“I’d like you to meet Celia and Michael, the owners of Sodom Hall Alpacas.  They’ll explain what your roles will be while you are their guests.”

 

Celia steps forward.  “Welcome.  You’ve arrived just in time to help with our annual shearing.  Once the alpacas are shorn, their fleece is woven into yarn in our Mini Mill, and used to make a variety of luxury garments, which we then sell.”

 

Mycroft says, “Greg, John, and Sherlock, since you all claimed to enjoy the thrill of the chase, you will be catching and shearing alpacas today.  Tomorrow, the group who can spin a good yarn will be working in the Mini Mill, and the following day those of you who were willing to sell your souls will instead be selling hand-made alpaca clothing.”

 

“Follow me,” Michael says, and leads the way to a large pasture in which several dozen alpacas are grazing.  He introduces his three assistants, and they demonstrate how to catch and shear an alpaca.

 

Mycroft addresses Sherlock, John, and Lestrade.  “Your task is to shear as many alpacas as possible in the next three hours.  For each animal you shear successfully, £5,000 will be added to the group’s kitty.  However, you must be very careful, because if you accidentally nick an alpaca with the clippers or cause any other injury, £5,000 will be deducted from the kitty.  Michael and Celia will be overseeing your work, and if they observe any cruelty to their animals, you will be asked to leave their property immediately, and will forfeit all money from this challenge.  The clock starts now.”

 

The players who are not participating in this challenge watch in amusement as Sherlock, John, and Lestrade dash around the field, being kicked at and spit upon by the unruly alpacas, who are disinclined to allow themselves to be caught, let alone shorn.  

 

“How did those guys make this look so easy?” Lestrade demands.

 

“The one they demonstrated on was probably drugged,” John says angrily, limping in pursuit of an alpaca that can clearly run much faster than he can.

 

“No it wasn’t,” Sherlock says.  “It was calm because they were calm.  We have to stop chasing them.”

 

“What, and just wait for them to wander over and shear themselves?” John asks.

 

Sherlock grabs John’s shoulders.  “Be still.”

 

John huffs.  “I’m never going to catch one.  They’re probably afraid of this bloody cane.”

 

“Your limp is psychosomatic, you know.”

 

“If you know that, then why did you insist that I ride in the front seat on account of my leg?”

 

“Because I wanted you next to me.”

 

Lestrade comes up to join them.  “Sorry if I’m interrupting.  Only, I thought we were in the middle of a challenge.”

 

Sherlock drops his hands from John’s shoulders.  “Well, now that you’ve stopped frightening them, I’ll go catch one.” 

 

John and Lestrade gape at him as he saunters casually over to the alpacas, places a head collar on one, and leads it back to them.  He hands the rope to Lestrade.  

 

“Lestrade, you hold it down, and John, you do the shearing.  By the time you’re done, I’ll have another one waiting for you.”

 

John and Lestrade gawk at him for a moment before getting to work.  It takes Lestrade awhile to figure out how best to restrain the alpacas, and John is very slow in shearing the first few, for fear of hurting them, but eventually they get the hang of it.

 

After an hour and a half, John says, “My hand is starting to shake from the constant vibration of these clippers.  Will you take a turn?”

 

He and Lestrade swap roles, with disastrous consequences.  Whether it’s because John doesn’t have a tight enough grip to hold the alpaca still, or because Lestrade doesn’t know how to use the clippers properly, is unclear.  Somehow, though, the alpaca ends up getting nicked by the blades.  It screams, and so does Lestrade.  

 

In fact, he is more upset than the alpaca, who just has a tiny cut, which it quickly forgets about.  Not so Lestrade, who is visibly shaken.  He switches off the clippers, tosses them aside, and rushes over to Sherlock, spooking the alpaca he was about to catch.

 

“You have to take a turn shearing,” Lestrade says.  “John’s hands are shaking, and I’m just going to butcher the poor beasts.”

 

“Who’s going to catch them, then?” Sherlock asks, looking at the alpacas, who have fled in alarm to the far side of the pasture.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Lestrade says, taking the head collar and lead from Sherlock.

 

Sherlock walks over to John, who is examining a small cut on the side of the partially shorn alpaca.

 

“Is it serious?” Sherlock asks.

 

“No, just a graze.  You wouldn’t think a Detective Inspector would freak out at the sight of a tiny bit of blood like that.”

 

“He doesn’t mind the blood; he minds being the cause of it.”

 

“Right.  Okay.  So, are you going to shear now?”

 

“I guess I’ll have to.”

 

Sherlock has no trouble with the shearing, but Lestrade cannot catch an alpaca, no matter how hard he tries.  All of John’s attempts to catch one are likewise futile, since it appears that he was correct about them being afraid of his cane.  Sherlock is left to do both the catching and the shearing, which slows down the operation considerably.  

 

By the time their three hours are up, they have only shorn 9 of the alpacas.  At £5,000 each, minus £5,000 for the one that Lestrade accidentally nicked, they have succeeded in adding £40,000 to the group’s kitty.

 

…

 

The next day’s challenge is not quite so exciting.  Molly, Donovan, and Mrs. Hudson are given the fleece from the shorn alpacas, and instructed on how to card and spin it into yarn using the Sodom Hall Mini Mill.  For each kilogram of yarn they produce that meets the owners’ quality control standards, they will earn £5000 for the group. 

 

Celia explains that the 27 kilograms of fleece provided by John, Sherlock, and Lestrade should yield about 18 kilograms of yarn.  She reminds them that the reputation of her family’s business depends on the high quality of their products, makes sure they understand how to use the machines, and then leaves them to their work.

 

It is soon apparent that the process of turning raw fleece into yarn is not as simple as it looks.  After a couple of lumpy batches, and some frantic scrambling worthy of an old episode of _I Love Lucy_ , though, Molly, Donovan, and Mrs. Hudson get into a groove, and manage to work together quite well.

 

Once all of the fleece has been processed, Celia inspects their work, and declares that they have produced 14 kilograms of yarn that is good enough to be used for clothing.  Mycroft congratulates them on adding £70,000 to the kitty.

 

…

 

The following day, the final group is sent by van an hour away to an open air market in Liverpool, where they must attempt to sell hand-knitted alpaca clothing made with the equivalent of the 14 kilograms of yarn produced by the other players.  For each garment they sell at its list price, they will earn £5,000 for the group. 

 

The other contestants remain at Sodom Hall, relaxing, so they don’t learn about the events in Liverpool until Mary, Irene, and Moriarty return that evening.  Mycroft gathers them all together and says, dryly, “I have been informed that there were some irregularities in this afternoon’s challenge.”

 

“The police have no sense of humour,” Moriarty complains.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft says mildly.  “They fail to find any amusement in disorderly conduct,” he looks at Mary, “indecent exposure,” he looks at Irene, “or extortion,” he looks at Moriarty.  “Please bear that in mind in future.  As it is, I have been able to keep the three of you from being charged, but you will not be contributing any money to the group’s kitty from this afternoon’s debacle.”

 

There are groans from the rest of the players.

 

“And on that note,” Mycroft says, “I believe it is time for you to take your next quiz on the identity of the mole.”

 

…

 

Once all of the contestants have completed the quiz, Mycroft types their names into his laptop one by one to see who will be eliminated.  The players watch anxiously, wondering who is the mole, and who will be the mole’s next victim.

 

“John,” Mycroft says.  A green thumbprint appears on the screen, signaling that John is safe, at least for now.

 

“Mary.”  Another green thumbprint.

 

“Sherlock.”  Green.

 

“Martha.”  Green.

 

“Jim.”  Green.

 

“Sally.”  Red.  

 

Donovan glares at everyone except for Molly and Mrs. Hudson.  “It’s impossible to figure out who the mole is, because each one of you is worse than the next.  I’m glad to be leaving this madhouse.  You’ll be lucky if you make it out alive.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now until the series finale, I will be broadcasting new episodes every other Saturday, alternating weeks with my other WIP, Our Divinest Senses. (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7820518) Like The Mole, Our Divinest Senses has a bit of mystery, a bit of humor, and a bit of romance. However, unlike this show, it is too explicit for prime time… 
> 
> Sodom Hall Alpacas is a real place. Check it out at http://www.sodomhallalpacas.co.uk
> 
> This program has been brought to you by the number 9, the letter A, and the generous support of readers like you. Please donate your comments and kudos now. And remember to subscribe, so you don’t miss the next exciting episode. Thank you. :)


	3. Tick... Tock... Boom!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Players must tread carefully to defuse the tensions in their relationships — as well as defusing a bomb that’s set to destroy their potential winnings. But all the caution in the world can’t prevent a third person from falling victim to the mole.

Donovan’s departure leaves a wave of accusations in its wake.

 

Mrs. Hudson turns to Mary, Irene, and Moriarty, who are grouped together on one side of the sitting room.  “What were the three of you thinking?  You can’t all be the mole, but Sally was right — you’ve all been behaving very badly.”

 

“Are you our mother, now?” Moriarty sneers.  “Scolding us for our naughty ways?  I thought recreational scoldings were supposed to be Irene’s department.”

 

“Don’t speak to Mrs. Hudson like that!” Sherlock snaps. 

 

“Oooh…  What’s the matter?  Mummy’s boy doesn’t like it when the big kids use mean words?”

 

“Shut up, Moriarty,” John says coldly.

 

“Or what?”

 

“Or I’ll make you.”  The ice in John’s voice freezes everyone in the room.  Suddenly he seems much less like a mild-mannered doctor, and much more like a combat veteran.

 

Moriarty shakes off his momentary paralysis.  He turns to Irene and Mary.  “The people here are so dreadfully dull.  Come on — let’s find something more interesting to do.”

 

The three of them leave the room, to the evident relief of the rest of the players. 

 

…

 

Over breakfast the next morning, Mycroft announces, “For today’s challenge, you’ll be heading to West Cockplay Farm, near the village of Simonburn, home of the medieval parish church of Saint Mungo.”

 

“Is it really called that?” Molly asks.  “I thought J K Rowling made up Saint Mungo’s.”

 

“You think _Saint Mungo’s_ was the most interesting place name Mycroft just mentioned?” Irene asks.  “You really are quite charmingly innocent, aren’t you?”

 

Molly blushes and stammers something unintelligible.

 

Mycroft clears his throat.  “I assure you that all of the places to which I am sending you are quite real, although I may have to speak with the producers about some of their creative choices of location.  However, that is neither here nor there.  What you need to know is that you must drive from _here_ , in Sodom, to _there_ , at West Cockplay Farm, for your next challenge.

 

“This time, you’ll be travelling in style in brand new Porsche 911 coupes.  As each car only has two seats, you’ll have to to pair off.  I need two players who believe life is but a dream, two who believe you have to step on people on your way to the top, two who believe you never forget how to ride a bicycle, and two who believe life is like a treadmill.”

 

“I believe life is but a dream,” Mrs. Hudson says.

 

“Me too,” Molly chips in.

 

“I know you have to step on people on your way to the top,” Moriarty says.

 

“Oh, yes,” Irene agrees.  “And when I do it in stilettos, they often enjoy it.”

 

“I’ll never forget how to ride a bike,” says John.

 

“Nor will I,” Sherlock says immediately.

 

“I don’t know about life, but this game is certainly starting to seem like a treadmill,” Mary says resentfully.  “No matter how fast any of us run, no one could possibly get close to John, with Sherlock always jumping in.”

 

John shoots her a surprised look. 

 

“Well, my life is like a treadmill at times,” Lestrade says.  “So I guess you and I are together, Mary.”

 

Mary sighs, and looks resigned.

 

“It shouldn’t take you more than four hours to make it to West Cockplay,” Mycroft tells them.  “You don’t need to arrive until 4:00, so you’ll have plenty of time to stop for lunch along the way.  However, don’t be late, because £10,000 will be deducted from the group’s kitty for any car that is not on time.”

 

…

 

By 10:00, the four pairs of contestants set off in their fancy sports cars.  Molly looks both thrilled and terrified to be behind the wheel of the Porsche 911.  Moriarty has somehow convinced Irene to let him drive, and seems quite pleased with himself.  Mary has gotten over her ill-humour, and is grinning at Lestrade as she shifts their car into gear.  Sherlock and John are giggling at some private joke as they pull away from Sodom Hall.

 

“You know,” John says, a few minutes later, “I’ve never been to Northumberland, although I served with the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers.”

 

“So, you never saw Cockplay during your time in the army?” Sherlock asks.

 

“Well, I didn’t say that…”

 

The Porsche swerves as both men break into fresh fits of giggles.

 

Once they’ve pulled themselves together, John says, “Actually, there’s a Fusiliers Museum of Northumberland that I’ve always wanted to visit.  Do you think we have time?”

 

“Put it in the GPS and see.”

 

John does.

 

“It should be fine.  We just have to take the A1 instead of the M6.  Do you mind?”

 

“Not at all.”      

 

…

 

Shortly after 2:00, Sherlock pulls into the car park in front of Alnwick Castle, where the Fusiliers Museum is located.  He and John get out and stretch, then make their way to the gate.  John grumbles a bit when told they have to pay the regular castle admission price, even though they only want to see the Fusiliers Museum, but Sherlock points out that their tickets are good for a year’s worth of visits, and proposes that they might come back when they have more time.  John brightens at this.

 

As they enter the castle grounds, they pass the Stables Fryery, and John suggests they stop for fish and chips.  Sherlock looks at his watch, and says he’s not hungry, but John insists they have plenty of time, and cajoles him into eating.

 

Once they’ve licked the grease from their fingers, John and Sherlock make their way to the Abbott’s Tower, which houses the Fusiliers Museum.  They examine the collection of uniforms, medals, weapons, paintings, and memorabilia from various historical campaigns on display on the lower level, and then head up to the top floor to watch a film about the history of the Regiment, dating back to 1674.  It’s clearly an emotional experience for John.

 

By the time they finally leave, they’re way behind schedule.  John keeps apologising, but Sherlock shrugs him off.  

 

“I know this was important to you, John, and I’m glad we came.  If we’re late, I’ll take the flack from the group.”

 

John squeezes his shoulder, and they drive off in silence.

 

…

 

Sherlock pulls the Porsche up in front of West Cockplay Farm at 4:21.  Two identical cars are already there, but the fourth is conspicuously absent.

 

John looks at Sherlock.  “Ten quid says we beat Moriarty here.” 

 

“I’m not foolish enough to take that wager.”

 

…

 

When Moriarty and Irene finally do arrive, 20 minutes later, with a tale of having been pulled over for speeding, there are several schools of thought amongst the other players.  Some believe that Moriarty must be purposely sabotaging the challenges because he is the mole.  Some think he’s only pretending to be the mole, to throw them off.  And some say there’s no reason for his behaviour other than the fact that he’s crazy as fuck.

 

Mary stands up for him.  “Why is everyone blaming Moriarty?  Yes, he was driving, and yes, he was late, but at least he was speeding in an attempt to make it on time.  Sherlock lost us £10,000, too, and he waltzed in here with no better excuse than that he and John ‘lost track of the time’.  That’s pretty suspicious, if you ask me.”  

 

Further bickering is cut short by Mycroft.  “Due to the tardiness of some contestants, your next challenge has been postponed until tomorrow.  I suggest that you make use of this free evening to gather as much information about each other as you can, in preparation for your next quiz.”

 

…

 

The following day, the four pairs of players — two who believe life is but a dream, two who believe you have to step on people on your way to the top, two who believe you never forget how to ride a bicycle, and two who believe life is like a treadmill — are taken to a large, dark cellar, lit by a single overhead bulb.  Mycroft explains the challenge:

 

“In a moment, I will be locking you into the four rooms behind you.  Your first task will be to find the keys to escape.  For every door that you unlock within half an hour, £10,000 will be added to the group’s kitty.  Once all eight players have been freed, you will use the four keys to unlock this fifth door, behind me.  Inside, you will find a cheque for £100,000.  Unfortunately, opening the door will arm a bomb to which the cheque is attached.  You must defuse the bomb before the timer sets it off, or your potential earnings will be destroyed.”

 

Mycroft then instructs each pair to stand in front of one of the doors before he switches off the light, plunging the cellar into darkness.  There is the sound of a key turning in a lock, the opening of a door, stumbling footsteps, the closing of a door, and then a key turning in a lock once more.  This sequence of sounds is repeated three more times.  When the light comes back on in the main cellar room, all of the players have vanished behind the locked doors.

 

In the first pitch black room, Lestrade curses as he bangs into something.

 

“What is it?” Mary asks.

 

“I think it’s a treadmill.”

 

“Great.  Life is like a treadmill.  Feel around and see if there’s a key attached.”

 

Next door, Molly and Mrs. Hudson are cautiously exploring their cell.  

 

“There’s something on the floor, here,” Molly says.  “Some kind of contraption.”

 

Mrs. Hudson joins her.  “There’s a handle, but it’s really hard to pull.  Help me.”

 

“Oh!  It’s a rowing machine.  You know — row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…”

 

Mrs. Hudson chimes in, “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”

 

“Maybe we have to sing it in rounds to get the key,” Molly suggests.

 

The darkness is soon filled with the cheerful sound of the repetitive children’s song.

 

In the next room, Moriarty and Irene have discovered a stepper machine, and are arguing over which one of them should do the stepping, and which one should get stepped on.

 

In the final room, John and Sherlock are standing in the doorway, very close together.  

 

“I know we’re supposed to be looking for the key,” John says, “but this room is giving me other ideas.”

 

There is a beat of silence before Sherlock weaves his fingers through John’s.  “Let’s stay focused on our goal,” he says.

 

John sighs and mutters, “I’m trying…”

 

Sherlock pulls him further into the room, where they find an exercise bike.

 

“Ah ha!” Sherlock says.  “You said you’d never forget how to ride a bicycle, John.  Hop on.”

 

John mounts the bike and begins to pedal.  As he does so, a bare bulb in the ceiling lights up.  John stops in surprise, and the room is once again plunged into darkness.

 

“The bike powers the light.  Keep going,” Sherlock says.

 

With the room illuminated, Sherlock and John can see that it is empty except for the exercise bike and a large bookcase standing against the far wall.  On the door there is a sign: HP HOLDS THE KEY.

 

Meanwhile, the other pairs have also discovered how to light up their rooms by using their exercise equipment.  Each room contains the same message.  Molly is the first to figure out the clue.

 

“HP is Harry Potter!  Find it on the shelf.”

 

Mrs. Hudson searches the titles, finally coming up with _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_.  When she opens it up, a key falls out.

 

Moriarty locates a key in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , Mary discovers one in _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ , and Sherlock finds one in _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_.  Soon, all eight players have reassembled in the main cellar room, with 6 minutes to spare.

 

“I’m glad you mentioned J K Rowling last night,” Lestrade tells Molly.  “Otherwise, I would’ve been thinking of Hewlett Packard rather than Harry Potter.”

 

“Everyone bring your keys over here,” Mary commands.

 

Working together, the players are able to unlock the final door.  They step through, into a well-lit room.  In the centre is a bulletproof glass box with a combination lock.  Inside the box is a a ticking bomb, with a digital timer counting down from 30 minutes.  Next to the bomb is a copy of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ , as well as a rolled up piece of parchment and a pair of wire cutters.

 

“How do we figure out the code to get to the bomb?” Mrs. Hudson wonders aloud.

 

“Look on the back of the door,” Sherlock says.  

 

Lestrade closes the door, and they see a sign:  REMEMBER, REMEMBER, HARRY POTTER THOUGHT THE PHOENIX WAS A GREAT GUY.

 

“What does that mean?” John asks.

 

“I know!” Molly says, excitedly.  “The phoenix in the Harry Potter books is named Fawkes.”

 

“Ah,” Sherlock says.  “Guy Fawkes.  Remember, remember, the fifth of November.”

 

He sets the combination to 511, and opens the box.

 

Mrs. Hudson takes out the parchment.  “It’s a list with eleven pairs of numbers,” she says.

 

Mary examines the bomb.  “There are eleven wires.  All of them are different colours, but I don’t see any numbers on them.”

 

Sherlock is also inspecting the bomb.  He looks disgruntled.  “Proper bomb-makers would have included a switch to turn this thing off.  There isn’t one.  I doubt this is a real bomb.”

 

John pats him affectionately.  “Of course it’s not a real bomb.  Mycroft isn’t going to risk actually blowing us up.”

 

Sherlock huffs.

 

“Real or not,” Lestrade says, “if we don’t disarm it in the next 24 minutes and 17 seconds, we’re going to lose £100,000.” 

 

Moriarty snatches up the wire cutters.  “I’m feeling lucky,” he says, with a mad gleam in his eyes.

 

“No!” the others yell.

 

“Give those to me now!” Irene snaps.

 

To everyone else’s relief, Moriarty does.

 

“I see why you’re good at your job,” Mary says admiringly.

 

Irene winks at her.

 

The players search the room for other clues, but can find nothing.  Molly picks up _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ and begins leafing through it.

 

“Is that the only book where the name of the phoenix is mentioned?” Sherlock asks her.

 

“No, he plays a major role in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ , as well.”

 

“Hmm…  So why is this particular book here, next to the bomb?  It’s not just to help us get the combination to the glass box…  No, I believe we’re meant to use it to decipher the code on the parchment.  Perhaps each pair of numbers refers to a page number followed by a word number.  Mrs. Hudson, what is the first pair?” 

 

Mrs. Hudson reads it out, and Molly turns to the page listed and counts words until she gets to the correct one.  “Cut,” she says.

 

“Yes!” Sherlock pumps his fist in triumph.  “What’s next?”

 

Mrs. Hudson reads out the pairs of numbers one at a time, and Molly looks them up.  The final message reads: _cut one wire not red or blue but red and blue_.

 

“Purple!” Irene says, and snips the wire.  

 

The timer stops with less than a minute to spare.

 

…

 

A triumphant group returns to West Cockplay Farm.  One amongst them, however, must secretly be disappointed.  The mole did not manage to sabotage that challenge.

 

Later that evening, the players once again take a quiz to test their knowledge about the identity of the mole.  Once they’ve each had a turn, they gather around Mycroft so that he can reveal the results.  He reads out each contestant’s name as he enters it into his laptop.

 

“Greg.”  A green thumbprint indicates that he is safe.

 

“Irene.”  Green.

 

“Sherlock.”  Green.

 

“Martha.”  Green.

 

“Jim.”  Green.

 

“John.”  Green.

 

“Molly.”  Red.

 

Molly hugs Mrs. Hudson tearfully before waving to the rest of the group and departing.

 

“Oh, I’ll miss that sweet girl,” Mrs. Hudson says.

 

“We all will,” John tells her.

 

The other players look around at each other, wondering if that’s true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a link to the Fusiliers Museum — a picture of you-know-who is on their website! https://www.alnwickcastle.com/explore/whats-here/fusiliers-museum
> 
> And here’s a photo of West Cockplay Farm: http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/244741
> 
> The next episode will air in two weeks. While you’re waiting, you might enjoy a quirky little series of twisted nursery rhymes — Mother Goose Ships Johnlock — http://archiveofourown.org/series/573346. 
> 
> Now, it’s time for another pledge break: Please support this programing by leaving comments and kudos. :)


	4. Hit Me with Your Best Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a popularity contest, as players rank each other from most to least favourite to determine who will be held hostage in Crackpot Cave. What they don’t know is that their least favourite player will have the power to shape the game.

After Molly’s departure, Mycroft addresses the remaining contestants:

 

“I can’t fail to notice that there are some tensions among you.  It is only natural that you may each enjoy the company of certain players more than others.  We have reached the point in the game where you will have the opportunity to make your preferences known.”

 

Sherlock opens his mouth to speak, but Mycroft holds up a silencing hand.

 

“This will not be done in a public forum.  Rather, you will each use your journal to list the other players, ranking them in order from 1 — your favourite — to 6 — your least favourite.  Please provide a reason next to each person’s name, explaining why you are placing him or her at that level.

 

“Once you have completed your list, please hand your journal to me.”

 

The contestants side-eye each other as they begin to write.      

 

Sherlock finishes his list first.  It reads:

_1 — John, because he’s John_

_2 — Mrs. Hudson, because she’s Mrs. Hudson_

_3 — Lestrade, because he’s Lestrade_

_4 — Irene, because she’s Irene_

_5 — Moriarty, because he’s Moriarty_

_6 — Mary, because she’s after John_

 

Across the room, Moriarty completes his list with a sneer.

_1 — Irene makes me feel deliciously naughty._

_2 — Mary does what I tell her to do, at least sometimes._

_3 — Lestrade is so bumbling, he amuses me._

_4 — Mrs. Hudson is slightly less dull than she could be._

_5 — John wants to see me dead._

_6 — Sherlock wants John instead of me._

 

Lestrade writes:

_1 — John.  I feel comfortable with him._

_2 — Mrs. Hudson.  She’s easy to be around._

_3 — Irene.  She’s easy on the eyes._

_4 — Mary.  She’s not too bad._

_5 — Sherlock.  He’s an arrogant sod._

_6 — Moriarty.  He reminds me of the people I spend my working life putting behind bars._

 

Mary’s list reads:

_1 — I’m drawn to John._

_2 — Irene is someone I admire._

_3 — I can’t help but admire Jim, as well._

_4 — Greg seems harmless._

_5 — Mrs. Hudson’s false sweetness annoys me._

_6 — If Sherlock doesn’t stop monopolising John’s attention, I can’t be held responsible for my actions…_

 

Mrs. Hudson writes:

_I don’t really think it’s fair to make us choose favourites like this, but if I must, I’ll say:_

_1 — Sherlock, because he stood up for me against that reptile, Moriarty._

_2 — John, because he stood up for Sherlock._

_3 — Greg, because he seems to be an all-around upstanding gentleman._

_4 — Irene, because she is somewhat capable of keeping Moriarty in check._

_5 — Mary, because even though there’s something about her that I don’t trust, at least she’s not Moriarty._

_6 — Moriarty, because I think that man is at best unhinged and at worst pure evil._

 

Irene gives each of the other players a calculating look before completing her list.

_1 — Mary.  I think she and I have a lot in common.  And I wouldn’t mind finding out if we have even more in common than she knows._

_2 — Martha.  I admire a strong woman, no matter what her age._

_3 — Jim.  What can I say?  I enjoy the challenge of keeping him in line._

_4 — Greg.  He may have hidden depths.  Then again, he may not._

_5 — John.  He’s just not my cup of tea._

_6 — Sherlock.  It’s nothing personal — he’s just too good at this.  I’m placing him last purely for strategic reasons._

John is the last to finish.  His doctor’s scrawl reads:

_1 — Sherlock, because he’s the most brilliant man I’ve ever met.  Because I can laugh with him, and be serious with him, and maybe, one day, even fall in love with him…_

_2 — Lestrade, because he’s a regular bloke, like me._

_3 — Mrs. Hudson, because she reminds me of my mum._

_I like all of the above, and none of the below._

_4 — Irene, because I don’t like the way she flirts with Sherlock._

_5 — Moriarty, because he was rude to Sherlock and to Mrs. Hudson._

_6 — Mary, because she was rude to Sherlock, and I don’t like the way she flirts with me._

 

Once all of the players have turned in their journals, Mycroft says, “I hope your memories are in good working order, because I’ll be holding on to these until after the next challenge, which means that you will not have anywhere to record your observations, nor will you be able to refer to your notes during the next quiz.”

 

There are groans from most of the players at this announcement.  

 

Mycroft ignores them, and continues, “I suggest that you all head to bed early, so that you will be well rested for tomorrow’s challenge.  However, the least popular among you should not expect to get too much sleep tonight…”

 

On that cryptic note, Mycroft departs, amidst a wash of confused murmurings.

 

…

 

At 3:33 AM, two large men, dressed head to toe in black, with ski masks covering their faces, burst into Sherlock’s room.  They seem to be momentarily startled to find him seated in an armchair, fully dressed, gazing at them calmly.

 

Sherlock rises, and the men rush over to him.  One pins his arms behind his back, while the other secures his wrists together with duct tape before placing another strip of duct tape over his mouth.  

 

Sherlock does not struggle.  Instead, he accompanies his abductors docilely as they guide him out to a waiting vehicle and push him inside.  Sherlock disappears from view as the masked men slam the door and drive off into the night.

 

…

 

Four hours later, the remaining players are summoned to breakfast.  John arrives first.  He looks up eagerly as each new person enters the room, and then his smile dims somewhat as he sees who has arrived.  His expression becomes more and more anxious as the minutes pass and Sherlock fails to appear.

 

At 8:00, Mycroft joins the six contestants at the breakfast table.  He is carrying a laptop, which he flips open.  “There is something I think you should see,” he says ominously, as he turns the screen to face them, showing the scene of Sherlock’s abduction.  

 

As the footage ends, Mycroft says, “As I warned, the least popular player did not get much sleep last night.”

 

“How could Sherlock possibly be the least popular?” Mrs. Hudson asks incredulously.  She narrows her eyes at Moriarty, who is wearing a gleeful smirk.

 

“Three of you placed him last on your lists,” Mycroft tells the group.  “No one else was ranked last by more than two of you.”

 

“But what have you done with him?” Mrs. Hudson demands.

 

“He has been taken to Crackpot Cave, in North Yorkshire.  There, he will be held hostage until you rescue him.”

 

“Why would we want to do that?” asks Moriarty with a sneer.  “We obviously hate him, and you’ve been good enough to take him off of our hands.  I’d say thanks are in order, and good riddance.” 

 

John glares daggers at Moriarty, but Mycroft holds up a hand to forestall any retorts.

 

“Your challenge today will be to make it past the snipers guarding the path to Crackpot Cave and rescue Sherlock.  The snipers will be armed with paintball guns.  If you are hit, you will be out of the challenge.  

 

“For each player who successfully reaches the cave without being shot, £10,000 will be added to the group’s kitty.  In addition, if at least one of you makes it into the cave and finds Sherlock within an hour after the challenge begins, you will earn an extra £100,000.

 

“However, if you fail to rescue Sherlock before the time is up, you will receive no money for this challenge, and Sherlock will be eliminated from the game.

 

“Oh, and there’s one more twist.  Sherlock has been informed of the reason for his abduction, and the rules of this challenge.  He has also been given an offer.  If he chooses, he may forfeit the game now, and walk away with all of the money that’s currently in the group’s kitty, leaving the remaining six of you to begin all over again with nothing.”

 

“Well, there’s no point in trying to rescue him then,” says Lestrade.  “I’m sure he’s pissed off at the rest of us for ranking him last, and he’s going to take his revenge by running off with all of our money.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Mrs. Hudson rebukes him.  “I’m sure his feelings are hurt that _some people_ here don’t like him, but I don’t think he’ll let that get in the way of playing the game.”

 

“More to the point, he probably thinks his odds of winning it all are good enough that walking away at this stage won’t be a very attractive proposition,” says Irene.

 

“Oh, that’s not why he won’t walk away,” scoffs Mary.  “He’s the mole, so he can’t leave the game.  Mycroft is just messing with our heads.”

 

Mycroft gives a little sniff at this.  “I hope you are quite through,” he says haughtily, “because _I_ am not.  There is one more condition to this challenge.  The player who was ranked highest will be the captain of the rescue team.  With three number one votes, that player is John.”

 

John’s face registers a combination of surprise and determination. 

 

…

 

As the six members of the rescue team head for Yorkshire in a van driven by one of the production crew, John tackles his role as captain.  He has a map, two paintball guns, and three caving helmets with LED lamps. 

 

“Lestrade and I will carry the guns,” John says, “and head in opposite directions up into the hills to flank the snipers, hopefully taking them out before they can take out any of us.  Mrs. Hudson and Mary will be in the front line on the central path through the valley, drawing sniper fire to help us pinpoint their locations and eliminate them.  Then, Irene and Moriarty, wearing the helmets, should have a clear run to the cave entrance.  Once inside, switch on the headlamps and locate Sherlock as quickly as possible.  Any questions?”

 

“Who’s wearing the third helmet?” Mary asks.

 

“I will,” John tells her.  “Just in case no one else makes it, I can drop down from the hillside once I’m past the snipers and sneak into the cave.”

 

“This whole thing is pointless,” Moriarty complains.  “Sherlock knows he’s our least favourite player, so he won’t expect us to rescue him.  That means he’s going to be out of the game either way, so why wouldn’t he just take the money and run?  He’s going to be long gone before we even get there.  I know I would be.”

 

“Yeah, well, then it’s a good thing Sherlock isn’t you.  He’s not a quitter, and he knows that nothing will stop me from coming for him.”

 

“I admire your loyalty, dear,” says Mrs. Hudson.  “But don’t you think it might be better to  let someone else take one of the guns?  Trying to sneak up behind a sniper while climbing a hill with that cane sounds pretty tricky.  I know how these things are — I have a hip.”

 

A look of hurt flashes across John’s face, but quickly vanishes.  “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Hudson,” he says.  “But I’m an excellent marksman, and when I asked if anyone else here knew how to use a gun, Lestrade is the only other player who said he had any experience.  What I lack in mobility, I’ll make up for in skill.”  

 

…

 

When the van drops them off a mile from Crackpot Cave, the six members of the rescue team put John’s plan into motion.  

 

John heads to the right and Lestrade to the left, climbing the hills on either side of the valley.  The area is lightly wooded, providing cover for them, as well as for the snipers.  The two armed men are soon out of sight.

 

Irene and Moriarty wait behind while Mary and Mrs. Hudson set off along the trail.  Mary takes the lead, zig-zagging erratically, presenting an unpredictably moving target.  A volley of paintball fire erupts from both hillsides, but she manages to dodge the flying missiles.    

 

There is a whoop of victory from Lestrade.  Presumably, he has taken out one of the snipers.  Mary turns toward the sound, just in time to be hit in the back by a paintball fired from the right.

 

She falls to the ground, as the players have been instructed to do when shot.  However, the fact that she’s supposed to be dead doesn’t keep her from voicing her displeasure with Lestrade.  “Keep your bloody mouth shut, you fool!  You don’t need to announce your location to the rest of the snipers!”

 

Lestrade has enough sense not to respond.  There is no sound from John, either, so there’s no way to know whether he’s taken out a sniper, been shot himself, or is just limping around ineffectually.

 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hudson is making her way more slowly along the path, apparently experiencing some difficulty with her hip.  She passes the place where Mary is lying without incident.  A few hundred yards farther along, though, there is another barrage of paintball fire, and she goes down.

 

Moriarty comes along next, sauntering past the place where each of the women has fallen.  It seems that John and Lestrade have done their jobs, because the snipers who took out Mary and Mrs. Hudson do not fire at him.  

 

As Moriarty strolls around a bend in the path, Crackpot Cave comes into view.  He picks up his pace.  A paintball flies from the left, whizzing past him and hitting the ground.

 

“Missed me, missed me, now you’ve gotta kiss me!” Moriarty sing-songs.

 

The next paintball comes from the right.  It strikes directly over his heart.  Moriarty clutches his chest and does an overly dramatic pantomime of a long, drawn-out death.

 

Now it’s Irene’s turn.  She emulates Mary — weaving back and forth as she races for the cave entrance.  She’s almost there when a single paintball catches her in the right shoulder, taking her down.

 

For several long moments, nothing happens.  Then John comes hurtling down off of the hillside and flings himself into the mouth of the cave.

 

All is blackness until he turns on his headlamp.  

 

John crawls forward through the aptly named Knee-wrecker Passage.  Once he can stand, he hurries along the tunnels, glancing anxiously at his watch as he searches for the hostage.  The one hour time limit for the rescue mission is almost up.  If he fails, £100,000 — and Sherlock — will be gone.

 

If Sherlock isn’t gone already, that is.  He had been given the option of taking all of the money earned by the group so far and leaving the game.  John had told the others that Sherlock wouldn’t do that.  Was he correct?

 

Just as the final seconds are ticking away, John squeezes through a narrow gap into a large chamber.  Sherlock is there, waiting for him with open arms.

 

…

 

John and Sherlock emerge from the cave to a mixed reception.  Mrs. Hudson is unreservedly delighted to see them both.  For the rest of the players, however, the pleasure they express at the addition of £110,000 to the group’s kitty is somewhat tempered by the fact that Sherlock comes with it.  

 

Before they have an opportunity to discuss the challenge, the contestants are all whisked away in separate vehicles.  On their way to a local B & B, they are each given a quiz about the mole.  

 

As soon as they arrive at their lodgings, Mycroft gathers them together to reveal the results.  As usual, he says each player’s name before typing it into his laptop.  

 

Mary looks relieved when her name is called first, since there are always several ‘safe’ players announced to build tension before the mole’s victim is identified.  She and the other contestants gasp in surprise as the laptop screen immediately turns red.  

 

Mary is out of the game.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I sat down to work on this story in the past two weeks, I ended up writing a Johnlock folktale instead. If you’re in the mood for some fluff and humor, you might want to check out Sherlock and the Three Watsons, The Gingerbread Detective, Little Red Buttonhole, and John is NOT the Little Red Hen. They’re all part of my Children’s Classics with a Johnlock Twist series — http://archiveofourown.org/series/572665
> 
> My unplanned foray into folktales means that I didn’t finish writing this episode until 6:00 this morning. If you appreciate my dedication to providing you with quality programming at a regularly scheduled time, please leave comments and kudos. Thanks! :)


	5. Stark Raving Starkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Players are forced to reveal more than they bargained for when they must switch journals. That’s nothing, though, compared to what they’re asked to reveal during a racy game of roulette.

“That quiz did my head in,” Mrs. Hudson says.

 

“Mine too,” says Lestrade.  “I can’t wait to get my journal back.  I’ve been relying on it like I’d rely on a case notebook.  How am I supposed to remember who the mole sat across from at breakfast on the third day?  I can’t even remember who _I_ sat across from at breakfast _this morning_.”

 

“Oh, I know,” says Mrs. Hudson.  “The questions on these quizzes are so obscure.  No matter how much I jot down, there’s always something I’ve missed.  ‘What colour socks was the mole wearing during the bomb challenge?’  As though I spend my time staring at people’s ankles.”

 

Lestrade chuckles.  “Yeah — I just went with black on that one.  I figure that’s a common colour.”

 

Irene jumps into the conversation.  “You’re acting as though you know who the mole _is_ , and all you have to do is remember what he or she was doing at any given time.  But I’ll bet the only one of us who’s sure about the identity of the mole is the mole himself…  Or herself,” she adds, with a significant look at Mrs. Hudson.

 

“Oh, I’m flattered that you think I might be the mole, dear,” says Mrs. Hudson.  “But I can assure you that I’m not.”

 

“Which is exactly what the mole would say,” Irene says, winking at her.

 

Mrs. Hudson winks back.

 

Just then, Mycroft returns from escorting Mary away.  He is carrying six journals and the black velvet bag from which the players drew marbles on the first day of the competition.  

 

“It’s time for me to return these journals,” he says, “but the one you receive may not be the one you originally possessed.  As you know, each journal is marked with a number, rather than a name.  The number you draw from the bag will determine which journal you are given.”

 

The players’ faces betray varying degrees of dismay at this announcement.  

 

Mycroft presents the bag to Sherlock.  “Since you had the highest score on the last quiz, you will draw first.  Then, the person whose journal you receive will draw next, and so on.”

 

Sherlock pulls out the number 6.  Mycroft hands him the corresponding journal, and then calls Moriarty forward.  Moriarty pulls out a 3.

 

One by one, the remaining players watch as their journals are handed to one of their competitors.  When all of the journals have been distributed, Sherlock has Moriarty’s, Moriarty has Irene’s, Irene has Mrs. Hudson’s, Mrs. Hudson has John’s, John has Lestrade’s, and Lestrade has Sherlock’s.

 

“The journal you now hold will be yours for the remainder of the game,” Mycroft tells them.  “You may share information with any other players as you see fit, but you may not trade journals.”

 

Mycroft departs, leaving an agitated buzz in his wake, as the players absorb the full import of this new twist.  Everything they’ve recorded — all of the factual information, as well as their thoughts, suspicions, and, in some cases, feelings — is now in the hands of someone else.  Someone who may well use what they’ve written against them.

 

Lestrade flips Sherlock’s journal — which is now his — open.  “Hey!  This is blank!  There’s nothing here except that ‘who’s your favourite player’ list we had to make yesterday.”  

 

He turns to Sherlock.  “You’re not allowed to record information anywhere except your journal.  I could have you disqualified for this.  Hand over your notes.”

 

“I can assure you, I have no notes.  Everything I need to know is stored in my Mind Palace.”

 

“Bollocks!” Lestrade exclaims.  Disbelief is clearly written on his face.

 

“Feel free to search me and my room, if you don’t believe me,” Sherlock says, spreading his arms wide.

 

Lestrade actually takes him up on this offer, frisking him for any scrap of paper or recording device.  Finding nothing, he follows Sherlock to his room, muttering curses.

 

The other players all watch them go, then open their own newly acquired journals.  

 

“Oh, this is delicious,” Moriarty purrs.  “Irene is quite the artist.  She’s drawn sketches of each of you in some very compromising situations.  I wonder how much is fantasy, and how much is based on first-hand experience…”

 

Irene appears to be perfectly unconcerned about this revelation.  “Mrs. Hudson has written that I’m capable of keeping you in check,” she says to Moriarty.  “And we both know that’s true.  But if you need a little graphic reminder of just what I could do to you, flip to page seven.”

 

Moriarty pales a bit as he sees the image to which Irene is referring.  He goes silent.

 

“I don’t think the contents of these journals need to be made public,” John says.  “It’s bad enough having _one_ other person privy to our secrets.  Let’s not make it worse.”

 

“Don’t worry, dear,” Mrs. Hudson tells him.  “Your secrets are safe with me.”

 

“Ta, Mrs. Hudson.”

 

“Although,” she adds slyly, “I think there’s _someone_ you might want to share them with…” 

 

John flushes, as Sherlock and an annoyed-looking Lestrade return to the group.

 

“Well, I might as well pack my bag,” Lestrade says.  “I’ve lost all my notes, and I’ve got nothing to replace them with, because _this_ genius keeps it all in his head.”

 

“Don’t worry, mate,” John says.  “We’re not allowed to trade back, but Mycroft said we could share information.  Come on — let’s go to your room, and I’ll let you copy your notes if you’ll share your theories with me.  A detective inspector’s insights into this case would be worth having.” 

 

Lestrade brightens, clapping John on the back.  “It’s a deal!”

 

As they go to leave the room, Mrs. Hudson asks, “John, what happened to your cane?”

 

Everyone stares.  John’s cane in nowhere in sight.  Nor is his limp.

 

John looks as surprised as everyone else.  “I must have left it on the hillside when I rushed down into Crackpot Cave.  I never noticed it was gone.”

 

“Well, that’s not at all suspicious,” Moriarty drawls.

 

“I always knew my limp was psychosomatic,” John says.  “But that didn’t help me shake it.  I guess I just needed the adrenaline rush of having people shooting at me — even if only with paintball guns — to snap me out of it.”   

 

Sherlock is silent, but his eyes follow John as he and Lestrade walk away.

 

…

 

Over breakfast the next morning, Mycroft announces, “After yesterday’s excitement, you’ll have a bit of a break today.  A van will be arriving at 10:00 to take you to Nottingham for lunch and some sightseeing.  Then you’ll continue on to the village of Pratt’s Bottom, on the outskirts of London.  Your next challenge won’t begin until tomorrow.”

 

There is some speculation about what the next challenge will entail, but for the most part the players take advantage of the rare opportunity to relax and forget about the game for a day.

 

Once they arrive in Pratt’s Bottom, the contestants are dropped off at the Village Hall, which has been temporarily converted into a makeshift dormitory.  Six folding camp beds line the walls of the large central room.

 

“Well, this is a bit rustic,” Mrs. Hudson says.  “There’s not much privacy, is there?”

 

“I thought it best that you all got over any modesty you might have tonight,” Mycroft tells the group.  “Any lingering shyness will put you at a decided disadvantage in tomorrow’s challenge.” 

 

With those disquieting words, Mycroft departs, leaving the players to wonder just what he has in store for them the next day.

 

…

 

After a rather uncomfortable night — in both the physical and the social sense — the players are brought to the Rendezvous Casino, where Mycroft explains their next challenge.

 

“Today, you will begin by pairing up with the person with whom you feel most comfortable.”

 

Sherlock and John step together, as do Irene and Moriarty, leaving Mrs. Hudson to partner with Lestrade.

 

“Good,” says Mycroft.  “Now, each pair will be separated from the others until after the challenge is complete.”

 

He leads John and Sherlock away, while other members of the production crew escort the remaining pairs in different directions.  Mycroft stops in front of a roulette wheel.

 

“Which one of you is feeling lucky?” he asks.

 

John and Sherlock look at each other.  John steps forward.  Mycroft hands him a roulette ball.

 

“Toss the ball and spin the wheel,” he says.  “If it lands on black, you will be an artist today.  If it lands on red, you will be a model.  The number you hit will determine the artwork you will be tasked with recreating.”

 

John complies.  He and Sherlock stare intently at the wheel until the ball comes to rest on black 31.  

 

“Guess I’ll be testing my artistic talents today,” John says.

 

Mycroft produces a print of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec’s _Red-Headed Nude Crouching_.  It shows a woman on her hands and knees, weight shifted backwards so that her naked buttocks jut toward the viewer.

 

“Your challenge will be to reproduce this painting, with John as the artist and Sherlock as the model.  A room has been set up for you at The Crypt Gallery with all of the supplies you will need.  

 

“After your painting is finished, John, you will have to take a picture of Sherlock in this same position for comparison.  Your photograph, along with similar pictures of two other models, will be placed on display at The Crypt Gallery next to your painting.  For every patron of the gallery who can correctly identify Sherlock as the subject of your artwork, £5,000 will be added to the group’s kitty.  

 

“The other two pairs will complete the same challenge, but with different images.”

 

Mycroft brings out two other prints.  One is _The Awakening of Psyche_ , by Guillaume Seignac, and the other is Titian’s _Venus of Urbino_.  Both depict nude women, one standing, one reclining.  

 

“I am aware of the somewhat, shall we say, _risqué_ nature of this challenge.  You may, of course, decline to participate.  However, unless all three pairs of contestants produce nude paintings and photographs for display, the entire group will earn no money for today.”

 

Mycroft escorts Sherlock and John out to a waiting cab, which takes them to The Crypt Gallery.  The two men are silent during the ride, each looking studiously out the window.

 

At the gallery, they are escorted to a private studio space and then left alone.  The silence from the cab ride lingers.

 

Eventually, John speaks.  “We don’t have to do this.  You saw those other paintings.  I can’t imaging Mrs. Hudson painting Lestrade — or allowing him to paint her — in either of those poses.  And you know what a wildcard Moriarty is.  He’ll probably just paint the camera lens black as some sort of artistic statement.  So either way, we’re not going to earn any money for this challenge.”

 

“I think you underestimate Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock says.  “She may be a woman of a certain age, but she’s no shrinking violet.  And you heard what Irene said yesterday.  I have confidence in her ability to whip Moriarty into shape.  Quite literally, if the occasion calls for it.”

 

John looks down.  “I don’t want you to do this if it’s going to make you feel uncomfortable,” he says to the floor.  “Or make things awkward between us.”

 

Sherlock laughs.  “You obviously don’t know me as well as you think you do.  I once showed up at Buckingham Palace wearing nothing but a sheet.  I have no problem baring myself for art.  Or money, for that matter.”

 

…

 

That evening, the six contestants are finally reunited.  Mycroft meets them in the now-closed gallery, where the results of their day’s labours are on display.  To the delight of everyone (except, perhaps, the mole) all three pairs completed the challenge.

 

John’s painting of Sherlock hangs in the centre of the wall.  John is no Toulouse-Lautrec, but his rendering of Sherlock’s lean body, long limbs, and dark curls is distinctive enough that 13 of the gallery’s patrons were able to match it with the correct photo.

 

Mrs. Hudson has attempted to portray Lestrade as Titian’s _Venus of Urbino_.  She may be a woman of many skills, but painting is apparently not one of them.  Aside from the fact that Lestrade is, quite decidedly, male, there’s nothing else about him that stands out in her portrait.  Only 6 people correctly matched her painting with his picture.

 

Irene has created a masterpiece.  In Guillaume Seignac’s original work, Psyche stands with her arms raised in a sensual but relaxed pose.  Whether Moriarty was refusing to cooperate, or for some other reason, Irene had bound his wrists and tied them to the rod holding up the scene’s backdrop.  In her painting, Moriarty stands on his toes, suspended in an elongated stretch.  The image Irene has captured with her paintbrush is nearly indistinguishable from the photograph.  Every one of the 20 patrons invited to The Crypt Gallery for this special viewing was able to identify Moriarty.

 

“Congratulations,” Mycroft says.  “You have succeeded in adding £195,000 to the group’s kitty.  However, ultimately only one of you will be able to collect that money — the player who makes it to the end of the game by knowing the most about _the mole_.  It’s time for your next quiz.”  

 

…

 

Once all of the players have finished the quiz, they gather around Mycroft as he enters their names one by one into his laptop.

 

“Sherlock.”  A green thumbprint appears on the screen.  To the surprise of no one, Sherlock is safe.

 

“Irene.”  Another green thumbprint.

 

“John.”  Green.

 

“Jim.”  Green.

 

“Greg.”  A red thumbprint fills the screen.  Greg has fallen victim to the mole.

 

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Mycroft says, with more sincerity than the group has ever before heard from him.  “You’ve been eliminated from the game.  Please come with me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re down to the final five. I’ve quite enjoyed reading your theories on who the mole could be. Please share your ideas in the comments. :)
> 
> Any artists out there? I would LOVE to have someone reproduce the paintings from this episode! If you want to see the originals, here they are:  
> https://www.1000museums.com/art_works/henri-de-toulouse-lautrec-red-headed-nude-crouching  
> https://www.1st-art-gallery.com/Guillaume-Seignac/The-Awakening-Of-Psyche.html  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_of_Urbino
> 
> In the past two weeks, I’ve posted 14 alternative versions of holiday songs as part of my new “Johnlock Comes A-Wassailing” series. With works from the G-rated “Jolly Johnlock Christmas” to the extremely explicit “The Little Bummer Boy,” there’s something for everyone’s sing-along pleasure. Check them out at http://archiveofourown.org/series/591307


	6. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes tipsy-turvy when the remaining contestants visit a French vineyard. The gloves (and socks) come off, and the truth comes out, for better or for worse.

The final five contestants watch the English countryside flash by outside the windows of their Eurostar train as they speed toward the Channel Tunnel.  They chat animatedly, clearly enthusiastic about the prospect of traveling to the south of France for their next challenge.  Soon, the tunnel is behind them, and French countryside replaces English.  

 

In a surprisingly short time, the train pulls into the Avignon TGV station.  The players gather their bags and disembark.  Mycroft is waiting for them on the platform.

 

An oddly familiar head of silver hair is disappearing into the crowd.  Sherlock turns to look, a question on his lips, but Mycroft commands the group’s attention.

 

“Welcome to Provence.  While you are here, you’ll need to decide which two players would like to go hog wild, and which three would rather relax with a glass of wine.”

 

Moriarty and Irene exchange a glance.  

 

“The wilder the better,” Irene says.

 

“Yes,” Moriarty agrees.  “There’s nothing quite so dull as _relaxing_.”  He somehow manages to make the final word sound filthy.

 

“Well, I, for one, would love to relax with a glass of wine.  Put my feet up.  Enjoy this beautiful weather,” Mrs. Hudson says.

 

“Relaxing doesn’t have to be dull, if you’re in the right company,” John says.

 

Sherlock smiles at him.

 

“That’s settled, then,” says Mycroft.  “There are a couple of taxis waiting to take you to your accommodations.  You’re free to spend the evening as you wish.  I will join you first thing tomorrow to explain your next challenge.”

 

…

 

Late the following morning, the players gather for brunch in the dining room of their luxurious guest house, which is situated in a picturesque vineyard.  Mycroft arrives halfway through their meal, looking somewhat less put-together than usual.

 

“I apologise for keeping you waiting,” he says.  “I was unavoidably detained.

 

“Now, as for today’s challenges, they will be completed by the teams you selected yesterday.  Irene and Jim, since you elected to go hog wild, you will be engaging in a traditional truffle hunt.  These days, most truffle hunting is done with specially trained dogs, but you will be utilising the time-honoured practice of hunting for truffles with the help of a hog.  A guide will explain the basic principles to you, and then leave you alone in the woods with your truffle hog.  You will have three hours to complete this challenge.  For every truffle you succeed in bringing back, £10,000 will be added to the group’s kitty.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, John, and Sherlock, since you prefer to relax with a glass of wine, you’ll be staying at the vineyard.  However, you won’t earn any money by just sitting here with your feet up all day.  I’ll explain your challenge after the other team has departed.”

 

The players exchange questioning looks as they finish their meal.  Once Irene and Moriarty have set off on their truffle hunt, Mycroft fills the others in on their task for the day.

 

“You will also be participating in a traditional regional activity — stomping grapes.  For each bottle you are able to fill with freshly stomped juice, you will earn £10,000.  However, you will not be provided with any empty bottles.  Instead, two of you will be drinking wine while the third is stomping grapes.  Once the two drinkers have finished off a bottle, you’ll fill it with grape juice and then trade roles.  

 

“The bottles of wine you’ll be given were all produced with grapes from this vineyard, and we would not want to insult our hosts by wasting them.  Therefore, if you spill any wine, £10,000 will be deducted from the group’s kitty.

 

“Oh, and there’s one more twist.  You’ll have to complete this challenge before the other team returns.  Once they do, if you can trick one or both of them into sampling your homemade wine, you will earn another £10,000.”  

 

Mrs. Hudson grins wickedly.  “I’ve got a nasty toenail fungus that I just haven’t been able to get rid of.  Maybe an all-day soak in grape juice is what it needs.  I can’t wait to see Moriarty’s face when he finds out what’s in his drink!”

 

Mycroft gapes at her, horrified. 

 

Mrs. Hudson pats his arm.  “Well, you know, dear, they do say that revenge is a dish best served cold.  Or, in this case, at body temperature.”     

 

Sherlock and John snort.

  

…

 

Mrs. Hudson offers to take the first turn stomping.  “You boys will be able to polish off a bottle of wine much faster than I could.  I’m afraid I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.  But I’ll do my best to get these grapes squashed up.”

 

She takes off her shoes and stockings, and pins her dress up above her knees.  John and Sherlock help her into the barrel.  She grips the sides to keep her balance, and begins tentatively moving her feet up and down to crush the grapes.

 

John and Sherlock walk down a little hill to an outdoor table that holds a dozen bottles of fine wine.  Sherlock picks one up and reads the label.  

 

“Not their best vintage,” he says, putting it down.  He scans and rejects several other bottles before finding one that meets his standards.  “Oh, John, you’ll like this one.”

 

Sherlock removes the cork and sniffs it.  “We really ought to let this breathe, but I can’t imagine Mrs. Hudson’s going to be able to keep stomping those grapes for an hour, so I guess we’ll just have to start drinking.”

 

John holds out two glasses, and Sherlock fills them before carefully setting the bottle aside.  Then he and John sit down and take their first sips.

 

“Oh, that _is_ nice,” John says.  He savours it for a moment, then knocks back the rest of his glass.  “I’m ready for a refill.”

 

Sherlock pours him another, then quickly downs his own wine and refills his glass, as well.  In a few minutes, the bottle is empty.

 

“One down, eleven to go,” Sherlock says.

 

John stares at him.  “You do know that we’ll die of alcohol poisoning if we actually drink all that wine, right?”

 

Sherlock just smiles and brings the empty bottle up the hill to Mrs. Hudson.  She seems relieved to see him.

 

“Oh, thank you, dear.  This is more strenuous than I thought it would be.  My hip is acting up a bit.  Would you help me out of here?”

 

John comes over, and he and Sherlock steady Mrs. Hudson as she climbs out of the barrel.  Her feet, ankles, and calves are stained a lovely shade of purple.  She peers down at her toes.

 

“You know, this really might help get rid of that fungus.”

 

John goes into doctor-mode, explaining various treatment options to her, while Sherlock siphons grape juice into the bottle.  Once it’s full, Sherlock corks it and hands it to John.

 

“I’ll take the next turn,” he says.  He takes off his shoes and socks, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, removes his trousers as well.  “These are bespoke,” he explains.

 

Sherlock folds his trousers neatly, sets them aside, and then, clad only in his shirt and boxers, steps into the barrel and begins to stomp.

 

John leads Mrs. Hudson over to the table.  “Fancy anything in particular?” he asks.

 

“I don’t really know much about wines.  I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

 

John picks a bottle at random and pours them each a glass.  “Cheers, Mrs. Hudson.”

 

They raise their glasses to each other and drink.  John, who’s on his fourth glass, matches Mrs. Hudson’s slower pace.  By his fifth glass, and her second, they’re both becoming a little tipsy.

 

“Have you told him yet, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asks conspiratorially.

 

“Told who what?”

 

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson says in a low voice, with a significant look toward the man in question, who is too far away to overhear.  “Have you told him how you feel?”

 

“What do you mean?” John asks, with feigned ignorance.

 

“Don’t be coy, dear.  It doesn’t suit you.  You know I have your journal, and you know what you wrote.  But does _he_ know it?”

 

“No.  Well, not in so many words.  But he’s pretty observant.  I think he must have some idea.”

 

John finishes his glass, and empties the bottle into it.  “Let’s not waste anymore time talking.  We’ve got a challenge to complete.  Bottoms up!”

 

He and Mrs. Hudson down their wine, and bring the empty bottle to Sherlock, who is happily stomping away.

 

“My turn,” John says.  

 

He gives Sherlock a hand out of the barrel as Mrs. Hudson fills the second bottle with grape juice.  Then he takes off his shoes and socks.  He tries to roll his jeans up, but they’re too tight to make it past his knees.  He lets out a frustrated noise.

 

“Just take them off,” Sherlock says.  “It’ll be easier.”

 

John does so, revealing a pair of red pants.  

 

Mrs. Hudson puts her hand to her mouth, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.  “Oh my!  I didn’t realise you were quite so… colourful.”

 

John, flushed from the combination of wine and embarrassment, clambers awkwardly into the barrel and begins stomping grapes with a vengeance.

 

Tittering, Mrs. Hudson follows a grinning Sherlock back to the table.  Once he’s poured her a glass of wine, she continues her attempts at matchmaking.

 

“You and John have become quite friendly, haven’t you?”

 

“Making alliances is all part of the game,” Sherlock says.

 

“Well, yes, but there’s more to it with the two of you, isn’t there?” she presses.

 

“I’m sure John is just playing strategically.”

 

“Oh, Sherlock, don’t be daft.  That boy is positively smitten with you.  I’ve read his journal, you know.”  

 

Mrs. Hudson covers her mouth.  “Oh — I promised him I wouldn’t say anything.  I think I’ve had too much to drink…”

 

Sherlock responds by chugging the rest of the bottle.  “Wait here,” he tells her tersely. 

 

Sherlock brings the bottle up the hill to John.  “I’m going to take another turn, to let Mrs. Hudson rest her hip,” he says.

 

John doesn’t argue.  He rejoins Mrs. Hudson, who has already started on the next bottle of wine.

 

“What did you say to him?” he demands.

 

“Oh — I’m sorry — it just sort of slipped out.”

 

“What slipped out?”

 

“Well, that you fancy him.  But he thinks you’re just leading him on to get ahead in the game.”

 

John downs his wine, pours another glass, and downs that, as well.  “Great, just great,” he mutters.  “He probably thinks I’m the mole.”

 

“Well, that’s how the game works, isn’t it?  You’re the mole, I’m the mole, he’s the mole — everyone’s the mole.  Moles as far as the eye can see!  Moles for all!”

 

John begins to giggle.  “Yeah — this game is starting to feel like Whack-A-Mole.”

 

“Oooh — I wouldn’t mind whacking Moriarty,” Mrs. Hudson says, joining in the giggles.

 

“I’ll bet Mycroft is the mole,” John says.  “He’s the one who’s been sabotaging all of these challenges.  And now he’s covertly keeping Greg around.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, I could swear I spotted him in the train station, and then again as we were walking over here.  Oh!  Maybe Greg’s the mole!  An undercover mole!  There!  Solved it!  Gimme mah money!”

 

John flings his arm out drunkenly, knocking over the nearly empty bottle.  It falls to the ground, but doesn’t shatter.  John picks it up and looks inside, as though expecting to see more wine.

 

“I think we’ve finished this one.”

 

Mrs. Hudson gets unsteadily to her feet.  “It’s my turn to stomp.  Help me up the hill.”

 

John and Mrs. Hudson stagger up the hill to find Sherlock already out of the barrel, towelling off his feet and legs.  Mycroft is with him.

 

“The other team will be arriving shortly,” Mycroft says.  “You have just enough time to fill your final bottle and make yourselves presentable before you meet them on the veranda.”

 

..

 

When John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson meet up with Moriarty, he looks decidedly the worse for wear.  His clothes are rumpled and torn, his hair has leaves and twigs in it, and his eyes are wild.  

 

“Ran into a spot of bother with your little piggy, did you?” John asks.

 

“That was no trained domestic pig!  I’ve been savaged by a wild boar!”

 

Irene strolls over, cool as a cucumber, not a hair out of place.  “Men are pigs,” she says, “so I have lots of practice handling swine.  I’ve got £80,000 worth of truffles in this bag.”

 

“Do you know why truffles are so bloody expensive?  Because you risk life and limb trying to pry them out of the jaws of those voracious fucking truffle hogs!  That thing nearly took off my finger!” Moriarty shouts, waving his bleeding hand at the group.

 

“Here,” Mrs. Hudson says to Moriarty, “let me pour you a glass of wine.  You look like you could use a drink.”

 

Moriarty doesn’t wait for her to pour.  He snatches the bottle out of her hands and guzzles half of it down.  Then he makes a face.

 

“This isn’t wine — it’s grape juice!  And it tastes like it’s gone off.”

 

Irene takes the bottle from Moriarty and sniffs it.  “It has a fruity bouquet, with subtle notes of oak, and a strong hint of _feet,_ ” she tells him.

 

Mrs. Hudson, John, and Sherlock fall over each other in a drunken heap, laughing uncontrollably.   

 

…

 

Mycroft mercifully waits until all of the players are clean (literally) and sober before administering the next quiz.  Once they’ve all entered their answers into his laptop, he begins the now-familiar routine of revealing the results.

 

“Martha.”  A green thumbprint indicates that she is safe.

 

“Jim.”  Green.

 

“Irene.”  The screen flashes red.  Irene may be a master at handling pigs, but she has fallen victim to the mole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to HiddenLacuna, whose comments on the last episode made me laugh so hard that I couldn’t resist incorporating them into the drunken conversation between Mrs. Hudson and John. :D
> 
> And many more thanks to McBangle, who Did a Thing. An Absolutely Amazing Thing. She reproduced Mrs. Hudson’s painting of Greg Lestrade as Venus of Urbino. You have to see it! Click the "Works inspired by this one" link below!!!
> 
> Speaking of fantastic fan art, “Seven Days of Ugly Christmas Apparel” now has a glorious NSFW illustration by IamJohnLocked4art, as well as an utterly delightful podfic by Lockedinjohnlock. You can find them at http://archiveofourown.org/works/8800312 and http://archiveofourown.org/works/8804422
> 
> Guess who’s finally on tumblr? John’s on tumblr, Sherlock’s on tumblr, Mrs. Hudson’s on tumblr — everyone’s on tumblr! Tumblr blogs as far as the eye can see! Tumblr blogs for all! (As HiddenLacuna would say.) And me! Now I’m on tumblr. chriscalledmesweetie.tumblr.com. Come say “Hi!” and introduce yourself, so I know who to follow. :D 
> 
> P.S. Wanna see the truffle hog? https://youtu.be/dFHjW4rSrjI?t=2m53s


	7. Staying Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final four contestants are transported back to 1977, where the Bee Gees are singing on a never-ending loop as disco balls twirl overhead. How long will it take before one of them cracks?

The opening credits of the 1977 film _Saturday Night Fever_ play across four laptop screens.  Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Moriarty watch as John Travolta struts down the streets of New York City to the disco beat of _Stayin’ Alive_.  As the story of a young man who lives to dance plays out in front of them, the final four contestants are being whisked by train toward their next challenge.

 

Mycroft greets them upon their arrival at the station.  “Welcome to Dole.  In addition to being a town of historical significance, this is also the headquarters of the Bee Gees Fan Club in France.  You will be meeting some of their members this afternoon.

 

“I hope you paid close attention to the film you watched on the train, because for the next challenge you will each perform a dance routine to the song _Stayin’ Alive_.  The members of the Bee Gees Fan Club will judge your performances.  

 

“This challenge is not designed to earn money for the group.  Rather, you will be competing against each other for a very significant prize — an exemption from the next quiz.  Winning this exemption will guarantee you a place in the finals, and a one-in-three chance of taking home all the money in the group’s kitty.”

 

“A one in two chance,” Moriarty corrects him.  “The mole can’t win, so the other two players each have a 50:50 shot.”

 

“That’s assuming the players are equally skilled,” Sherlock says.  “Whether or not you’re the mole, Moriarty, I place your odds of winning at slim to none.”

 

“You think you’re so hot?” Moriarty sneers.

 

“I’m on fire.”

 

“Oh yeah?  Well, I will _burn_ you.  I will burn the _heart_ out of you.”

 

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”

 

“But we all know that’s not quite true,” Moriarty says, with a calculating look at John.

 

Mycroft clears his throat, reclaiming the group’s attention.  “A car is waiting to take you to the Space nightclub on the outskirts of Dole.  There, you will be given a selection of outfits from which to choose.  You will have 30 minutes to get dressed and practice your dance moves before the competition.  Good luck.”

 

…

 

The manager of Space shows the players to four separate dressing rooms that have been set up for them.  Half an hour later, they emerge, transformed.  Mycroft looks them over.

 

“I see that you’re ready.  Follow me.”

 

He leads the group to a room where a dozen members of the Bee Gees Fan Club are waiting.  Disco balls twirl overhead, and coloured lights flash on the dance floor.  It looks just like a scene from _Saturday Night Fever_. 

 

Mycroft holds out a now-familiar black velvet bag.  “Please draw a number to determine the order in which you will perform.”

 

Mrs. Hudson draws a 3, John draws a 2, and Sherlock draws a 4, leaving Moriarty to go first.  As he saunters to the centre of the room, the other three join the Bee Gees Fan Club to watch.

 

Moriarty is dressed in a dark blue Vivienne Westwood suit.  Its classic lines stand in sharp contrast to the glam rock makeup with which he’s painted his face.  He looks more like a 1970s version of David Bowie than John Travolta.

 

As the iconic beat of _Stayin’ Alive_ pulses out of the speakers, Moriarty launches into an avant-garde expressive dance.  There is a compelling, train-wreck quality to his performance.  He finishes to a smattering of polite applause and a sea of confused faces.

 

John is up next.  He’s wearing a white suit with an open-necked black shirt, just like Tony Manero had on at the end of the _Stayin’ Alive_ sequence in the film.  His expression is a mixture of embarrassment and resignation.

 

John dances as though he learned the routine by reading an eHow article.  It’s not that he’s bad, exactly.  In fact, he’d fit in fine as part of a line dance.  As a solo performer, though, he’s underwhelming.  He, too, finishes to polite but not particularly enthusiastic applause.

 

Then comes Mrs. Hudson, in a surprisingly revealing scarlet dress.  Sherlock helpfully informs the group that she used to be an exotic dancer.  It shows.  She may be in her 70s, she may sometimes complain about her hip, but the woman still knows how to move.  Her grand finale — tossing her silk scarf to the audience — is met with whistles and cheers.

 

Finally, it’s Sherlock’s turn.  From the moment he takes the dance floor, all eyes are riveted on him.  Perhaps it’s his alluring purple shirt, with the top three buttons undone.  Perhaps it’s the high-waisted black pants that seem to have been spray-painted over his hips and thighs before flaring out at the bottom.  Or perhaps it’s simply that the man can _dance_.  He moves like the love child of John Travolta and Mikhail Baryshnikov.  The audience is mesmerised.  

 

Sherlock ends his performance to wild applause from everyone except Moriarty, who looks as though he’s having a hard time restraining himself from clapping along with the rest.  The members of the Bee Gees Fan Club confer briefly before their leader steps forward to congratulate Sherlock on winning the competition.

 

…

 

After the dance contest, Mycroft allows the players to change back into their regular clothes before escorting them to a nearby restaurant for dinner.  Over dessert, he says:

 

“Since you’re probably all tired out from dancing, the producers decided that you should have an early night.  They’ve had four rooms specially prepared for you at the HotelF1.  Your next challenge is simple: If all four of you remain in your rooms with the doors closed until 9:00 tomorrow morning, £100,000 will be added to the group’s kitty.”              

 

“What’s the catch?” Moriarty asks.  “Is the hotel supposed to be haunted?  Do you expect us to be too frightened to spend the night with murderous ghosts?”

 

“Nothing of the sort,” Mycroft assures him.

 

“I just hope there’s an en suite,” Mrs. Hudson says.  “At my age, I’m up a couple of times a night.”

 

“Now, that I can’t promise you,” Mycroft says.  “I recommend that you visit the WC before you turn in.”

 

…

 

The HotelF1 caters to travellers on a very limited budget, providing accommodations of the strictly no-frills variety.  No-frills, that is, aside from the four specially prepared rooms.

 

Mrs. Hudson gasps as she enters her room.  A disco ball hangs over the bed, its slow rotation casting coloured lights around the small space.  Music blares from hidden speakers:  

 

_Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk_

_I'm a woman's man, no time to talk_

_Music loud and women warm_

_I've been kicked around_ _s_ _ince I was born_

_And now it's all right, it’s okay_

_And you may look the other way_

_We can try to understand_

_The New York Times' effect on man_

_Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother_

_You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive…_

 

Across the hall, in a similarly appointed room, Moriarty is singing along:

 

_Well now I get low and I get high_

_And if I can't get either, I really try_

_Got the wings of heaven on my shoes_

_I'm a dancin' man and I just can't lose_

_You know it's all right, it's okay_

_I'll live to see another day_

_We can try to understand_

_The New York Times' effect on man_

_Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother_

_You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive…_

 

In the room next to Moriarty’s, John reprises his dance steps from the afternoon, looser now that he doesn’t have an audience.

 

_Life goin' nowhere_

_Somebody help me_

_Somebody help me, yeah_

_Life goin' nowhere_

_Somebody help me, yeah_

_Stayin' alive…_

 

In his own room, Sherlock rolls his eyes as the song fades out, only to immediately begin again.  And again.  And again…

 

_Life goin' nowhere_

_Somebody help me_

_Somebody help me, yeah_

_Life goin' nowhere_

_Somebody help me, yeah_

_Stayin' alive…_

 

…

 

By midnight, _Stayin’ Alive_ has been playing continuously for three solid hours.  Mrs. Hudson is curled up in a foetal position, with a pillow over her head.  Her right foot twitches in time with the music.  

 

Moriarty appears to have gone mad.  He has wrapped the hotel bedspread around his shoulders like a cape, and is duelling with imaginary enemies.  “I’ll live to see another day!” he yells, lunging at his reflection in the window.

 

John paces back and forth in the tight confines of his room, muttering to himself.  Each time the song fades out, he can be heard repeating “Please let this be the last time.  Please let this be the last time.”

 

Sherlock lies flat on his back, palms steepled under his chin.  The swirling lights of the disco ball flicker over his pale face.  He is utterly still.

 

…

 

At 4:45 AM, Sherlock’s door opens, and John steps into his room.  Sherlock blinks up at him.

 

“What are you doing here?  Is the challenge over?”

 

“Not officially.  But I’m sure Mrs. Hudson’s bladder has forced her to go down the hall to the loo by now.  And Moriarty has probably climbed out his window and run off to terrorise the town.  So I figured there was no sense in spending the rest of the night in my own room.”

 

“I see,” Sherlock says, rising from the bed.  “And you’re not worried that coming in here is going to hurt your chances in the game?”

 

“This isn’t just a game to me anymore,” John says.

 

“I see,” Sherlock says again.  He takes a step closer to John.

 

John closes the remaining distance between them, placing one hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck and drawing him down into a heated kiss.

 

As John’s free hand begins roaming, Sherlock pulls back reluctantly. “Remember, we’re on camera,” he says.

 

“Not for long.”  

 

John unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt, eases it off his shoulders, and flings it toward the lens.  The scene goes dark.

 

Giggles cut through the sound of the music.  Then there is a low, indistinguishable murmuring of voices.  Soon, nothing can be heard except the faint creak of bedsprings and the Bee Gees singing:

 

_Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'_

_And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive_

_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive_

_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive…_

 

…

 

At 9:00, the music finally ceases.  A minute later, there is a sharp rap on Sherlock’s door.  He opens it to Mycroft, who glances pointedly at John, sleeping on the bed.

 

“It seems that we will not be adding £100,000 to the group’s kitty,” he says dryly.  “Breakfast is in 15 minutes.”

 

…

 

Four rumpled and tired-looking players stumble down the stairs to breakfast.  “Help yourselves to coffee,” Mycroft tells them.  “You’ll want to be alert for the next quiz.”

 

Moriarty, Mrs. Hudson, and John groan.  

 

Sherlock — who earned an exemption by winning the dance competition — looks smug.  “I’m not worried,” he says.

 

John kicks him under the table.  Sherlock winks at him.

 

…

 

Once the three non-exempt players have completed the quiz, Mycroft begins the familiar routine of typing in each name.

 

“John.”  The screen flashes green.  John will be going to the finals.

 

“Jim.”  Another green screen.  The players exchange looks.  They all know what that means.

 

“Martha.”  The screen goes red.  Mrs. Hudson has been eliminated from the game. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s only one episode left. Who will win? Who will lose? And who will be revealed as the mole? Tune in two weeks from now for the series finale.


	8. The Winner Takes It All... Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remaining players face a final challenge at the Reichenbach Falls before the identity of the mole can be revealed. Who will survive until the bitter (or sweet) end?

 

“Over the past weeks, you’ve all been watching each other very closely,” Mycroft says to the final three contestants.  “You’ve had to take note of everything from what your competitors had for breakfast to the colour of their underwear.  This next task will show whether or not all of that observation has paid off.

 

“Now, you have already answered a series of questions about each other.  As you know, some of the questions were embarrassing; some of them, frankly, were downright offensive.  Your next challenge will be based on those questions.

 

“There will be three rounds.  Each round is worth £25,000.  

 

“In the first round, Sherlock, you will be taken to a house and isolated there.  Jim and John, it will be up to you to find him.  In order to locate the house, you’ll have to answer three questions correctly.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

The three players nod, and Mycroft leads Sherlock away through the narrow, winding streets of Dole.  When he returns, he takes John and Moriarty in the same direction in which he took Sherlock.  Soon, they reach an intersection.  Mycroft stops.

 

“Here is the first question:  With whom would you rather be stranded on a deserted island?  If you think Sherlock chose John, we’ll head to the left.  Or, if you think he chose Jim, we’ll go right.”

 

“This game is too easy,” Moriarty complains.  “Of course he’d choose his little pet.”

 

John glares at him, but doesn’t argue.  They turn left.

 

At the next crossroads, Mycroft says, “Second question:  Who is more likely to vote for himself in a popularity contest?  If you think Sherlock said John, we’ll go this way.  If you think he said Jim, we’ll go that way.”

 

“I’m sure he said Moriarty,” John says.  

 

“Well, I’d have to, to make the vote unanimous,” Moriarty says.

 

Mycroft gestures for them to go to the right.  In a few minutes, they come to two doors, one painted red, the other black.  

 

“Third question:  Who is more likely to lie to a loved one?  If you think Sherlock answered John, knock on the red door.  If you think he answered Jim, knock on the black door.”

 

“Oh, he probably said me, since he’d never believe anything bad of old Johnny, here,” Moriarty sneers.

 

“Well, I don’t like your tone, but your logic is sound,” John says.  

 

He steps forward and raps on the black door.  There is no answer.  He knocks again.  Nothing.  They’re at the wrong door.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft says.  “Your answer to the final question was incorrect.”

 

He opens the red door to reveal Sherlock.

 

John, looking stricken, demands, “Why would you say that I’m more likely to lie to a loved one than Moriarty?”

 

“Think, John.  You have to _have_ a loved one in order to lie to them, correct?  Therefore, Moriarty is incapable of lying to a loved one.  When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.  That leaves you as the only reasonable answer.”

 

John appears to be mollified.  Moriarty rolls his eyes dramatically.

 

“It’s time for round two,” Mycroft says.  “Sherlock and Jim, you wait here, while I take John to his hiding place.”

 

Once John has been secreted away, Mycroft leads Sherlock and Moriarty to a new starting point.  He says, “Question one:  Who thinks he has better hair?  If you think John said Jim, we’ll go left.  If you think he said Sherlock, we’ll go right.”

 

“I clearly have better hair,” Sherlock says.  “And John knows that I am well aware of this fact.”

 

He sets off to the right without waiting for the others, stopping only when he reaches a fork.

 

When Mycroft catches up, he gives Sherlock a disapproving look.  “I must remind you that his is a team challenge,” he says.  “Question two:  Who would have a harder time talking his way out of an insane asylum?  Once you two have agreed on the answer you think John gave, I’ll tell you which direction to go.”

 

“The more Moriarty talked, the longer they’d keep him locked up,” Sherlock says.  “That’s who John chose.”

 

“Fine,” says Moriarty.  “Not because you’re right, but because I’m sure your little boy-toy is spewing the party line.”

 

Mycroft indicates the path to follow, and they set off together.  Soon they reach a cul-de-sac.

 

“Here is the final question,” Mycroft says.  “Who is more likely to use sex to get what he wants?  I will tell you which door to knock on once you’ve agreed on the answer you think John gave.”

 

Moriarty says, “Well, Sherlock, that’s what you’re doing right now, isn’t it?  Using sex to get what you want?  But poor little John is too blind to see it, so he probably said me.  I pity him.”

 

“Save your pity for yourself,” Sherlock snaps. 

 

“I need an answer,” Mycroft tells them.

 

“Moriarty,” Sherlock says.

 

Mycroft gestures toward the door on his right.  Sherlock knocks, and John immediately opens it from within.

 

“I knew you’d find me,” John says.

 

“Always.”

 

“Please, take me away!” Moriarty moans.

 

Mycroft leads him off for round three.

 

John and Sherlock are standing close together, whispering, when Mycroft returns.  He clears his throat to get their attention.

 

“This is the last round.  Question one:  Who is more likely to sneak a peek at his birthday present?  If you think Jim chose John, we’ll go left.  If you think he chose Sherlock, we’ll go right.”

 

“I bet he said that I’d be more likely to peek,” John says, “since you could just deduce what the present was without looking.”

 

“All right,” Sherlock agrees.  

 

They head to the left.  At the crossroads, Mycroft says, “Next question:  “Who is more likely to be alone in ten years?”

 

“I don’t believe that either one of us will be alone in ten years, since we’ll be together,” John says, taking Sherlock’s hand.  “But Moriarty probably chose me again.  That man really seems to hate me.”

 

Sherlock looks wordlessly down at their joined hands.  

 

“Is that your answer?” Mycroft asks.

 

When Sherlock nods, Mycroft sets off to the left.  Sherlock and John follow, still holding hands.

 

“Here is the final question,” Mycroft says, stopping in front of twin doors.  “If you could be either person for one day only, whom would you choose?”  

 

John turns to Sherlock, saying, “You’ve shown me his journal.  He’s obsessed with you.  You’d clearly be his choice.”

 

“I suppose,” Sherlock says distractedly.

 

Mycroft points to the door on the right.  “Check to see if you’re correct.”  

 

John knocks.  No answer.  He knocks again, more insistently.  Still no answer.

 

“Moriarty, if you’re in there, open the damn door!” John shouts.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft tells them.  “You answered all three questions incorrectly.  We’ll have to retrace our steps to find Jim.”

 

Once Moriarty has been located, he gleefully explains why they had been wrong about every one of his answers.  

 

“Sherlock would be the one to peek at a birthday present, because he’s allergic to the idea of not knowing something.”

 

“I wouldn’t have to look.  I’d just deduce it,” Sherlock argues.

 

“Oh, Sherlock.  Your deductions aren’t nearly as infallible as you’d like to believe, now, are they?” Moriarty taunts.  “You’re the one who is going to be alone in ten years, because John won’t live that long.  And I’d rather be _him_ for a day, so that I could have the satisfaction of fucking _you_.”

 

Chaos erupts.  John and Sherlock both lunge for Moriarty.  Several members of the production crew jump in to pull them away.  Mycroft is knocked down in the scuffle.  The camera tips over, and the scene goes dark.

 

…

 

“Welcome to Meiringen, Switzerland,” Mycroft says, as Sherlock, John, and Moriarty step off the train.  “Here, your final challenge awaits.

 

“Over the course of this game, you have had to rely on each other in order to earn money for the group, without ever quite knowing whom to trust.  Now, you will be required to put your faith in each other one last time.  If you succeed, you will add another £100,000 to the kitty — money which only one of you, in the end, will take home.

 

“I hope no one here is afraid of heights, because your final challenge involves bungee jumping over the famed Reichenbach Falls.  Each of you will be responsible for rigging the safety equipment for one of the others — Sherlock for Jim, Jim for John, and John for Sherlock.  This will be the final test of your trust in your teammates.  In order to earn the £100,000, all three of you must jump.

 

“Now, please follow me.  We have a pleasant walk, a ride on the Reichenbachfall Funicular, and a bit of a hike ahead of us before we reach our destination.”

 

Mycroft sets off, with the other three in his wake.  The scenery is lovely, and there are spectacular views from the funicular railway, but none of the contestants seem to be focused on the beauty of their surroundings.  Instead, Moriarty glowers at John and Sherlock, who stay close together, eyeing him warily.

 

At the site of the jump, they are met by an instructor who demonstrates the correct way to rig up an ankle attachment as well as a body harness, which will serve as a backup for extra safety.

 

“John, you will be in charge of the equipment for Sherlock, who will be jumping first,” Mycroft says.  “Then, Jim will rig up the equipment for you.”

 

“Moriarty said yesterday that he didn’t expect me to be alive in ten years.  I guess this is his chance to make sure that prediction comes true,” John jokes.

 

Moriarty sneers at him.  “What’s the matter, John?  Are you afraid to jump?  Or are you trying sabotage this challenge?  Do you want to confess to being the mole?”

 

“I have every intention of jumping,” John says.

 

Sherlock takes John’s hand.  “I don’t like this.  I don’t trust Moriarty.”

 

“I don’t, either.  But he’s not going to kill me on BBC One.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t look convinced.  “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

 

“Sherlock, don’t worry.  Just jump.  I’ll be right behind you.”

 

Sherlock hesitates.  He glances back and forth between John and Moriarty.  Then he says, decisively, “No.  I’m not jumping.  I forfeit.  So the challenge is over.  No amount of money is worth risking the life of the man I love.”

 

“You two are nauseating,” Moriarty groans.  “I may just have to toss myself over these falls to get away from you…”

 

“Since Sherlock refused to jump, your team has failed this challenge,” Mycroft says.  “No money will be added to the group’s kitty today.  

 

“Still, even without the extra £100,000, you have succeeded in earning a grand total of £830,000.  But only one of you will be able to claim that prize.  The final quiz will determine the winner of this game.”  

 

…

 

Mycroft stands outside three jail cells.  He says, “The game comes down to this moment — the final test to determine who will be rich, who will be disappointed, and who will be unmasked as the mole.  Inside these cells, Sherlock, John, and Jim are taking one last quiz.  When they have finished, one cell door will open to reveal the mole.”

 

After a suitably dramatic pause, a door slides open.  John steps out.

 

“You played your part well,” Mycroft tells him.  “Now, let’s find out how well your competitors played theirs.  It’s time to discover our winner.”

 

A second cell door opens.  Sherlock emerges.

 

“Congratulations,” John says, beaming at him.  “You just won £830,000.”  

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Um, I’m pretty sure you did,” John insists.

 

“No, _I_ didn’t, _we_ did.  What’s mine is yours.”

 

“Well, now I wish I hadn’t done such a good job at sabotaging some of those challenges,” John says.  He and Sherlock break into giggles.

 

Mycroft quells them with a stern look.  “It’s time to open the final cell,” he says.

 

The door slides open, and Moriarty appears.  A woman steps forward from the shadows to join him.

 

“Jim, this is Agent Hopkins, from Interpol,” Mycroft says.  “She has a few questions for you about the Black Pearl of the Borjias.”

 

As Agent Hopkins escorts him away, Moriarty turns to give Sherlock and John a scathing look.  “Laters…” he singsongs, waving his fingers at them.

 

Neither John nor Sherlock spares him a parting glance.  They only have eyes for each other.  John grabs Sherlock’s face and pulls him down for a kiss.

 

The scene fades to black…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this adventure. Were you able to correctly predict the outcome? Did you notice how John attempted to sabotage the challenge in each episode? Fifty points for each time you can name that he succeeded; one hundred points for each time you can name that he tried but failed. And a million points to anyone who’s willing to go back to episode 5 and draw/paint Sherlock as Toulouse-Lautrec’s Red-Headed Nude Crouching or Moriarty as Seignac’s The Awakening of Psyche, to go with McBangle’s Greg Lestrade as Venus of Urbino.
> 
> In case there’s anyone here who isn’t aware of the Fandom Trumps Hate auction that’s happening on tumblr now through January 19, go check it out. FTH is an online auction of fanworks, with the proceeds going to charities such as the Trevor Project, Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, etc. You can bid on me (https://chriscalledmesweetie.tumblr.com/post/155653456355/chriscalledmesweetie-fth-contributor-page) or any of the 700+ other amazing contributors (https://fandomtrumpshateofferings.tumblr.com).
> 
> Happy Johnlock Eve. ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Greg Lestrade as Venus of Urbino](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819317) by [McBangle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McBangle/pseuds/McBangle)




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